


As Quick As A Shooting Star

by Puck_Wise



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drug Use, Eventual Relationships, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, The Hughes family - Freeform, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, pinning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puck_Wise/pseuds/Puck_Wise
Summary: He was a shooting star. He was breathtakingly beautiful but unstoppable. He was brief but unforgettable. He was the love of Quinn’s life.
Relationships: Brock Boeser/Elias Pettersson, Quinn Hughes & Christopher Tanev, Quinn Hughes/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 16





	1. February

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on this fic on and off for over a year now. I've restarted this fic so many times and literally gone through so many character changes that, at this point, it's not even the same fic. But with that being said, I'm still not done with it. It's like 50% done, but I've got a full outline so that the updating process will take a while (This is probably one of the worst times for me to even start posting this fic but here I am). I'm sorry about that; I am very impatient and really just want to post this. 
> 
> Thank you, Seb, for reminding me that yes, I do need to revisit this fic. Also, please don't be mad cause I know you said to post this when I was completely done with it. 
> 
> BIG DISCLAIMER: Quinn is a giant fucking mess, and I am 100% projecting onto him. Like it's scary how much I am. So with that being said, Quinn's parents aren’t portrayed as the best people; I'm sure they are good people in real life, but this isn't real life; this is fiction. 
> 
> This isn't beta read, and I will die on that hill.
> 
> Here is a link to the playlist for this fic if anyone is interested in listening to some music that helped write this fic. 
> 
> [Spotify Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37QPtMIheg19S3GIg4Nmk5)

“Can you hurry up?”

Looking over his shoulder, Quinn rolls his eyes at the salt and pepper haired man. The guy had practically been breathing down his neck when he was in line to order. The man gives Quinn a quick up and down before rolling his own eyes, so Quinn continues on with his story,” But anyways, I really should have known it was all going to go to shit when I was on a knee chugging pink lemonade Burnett’s before my class.”

Quinn is cut off by the man in line, “Sir, this is a Wendy’s.”

Turning back, “And you can mind your own business.” The man gasps and mumbles something that is just out of reach. 

When Quinn turns back around, Brady is pinching the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head, “One day, you're going to get me fired.”

“So how about that crack?” Quinn smirks at his friend. 

Brady gives a sharp breath through his nose, “Either you give me six bucks, or you got to go.”

He digs out his wallet and finds a tenner for his friend, “And a little green on the side.”

Brady rolls his eyes, “Then give me an extra fifteen outside.”

“Deal.” Quinn smiles, getting the change back. “Can I get a water cup?” Without a word, Brady shoves the cup into his hand. 

Moving out of the way, he hears Brady greet the older man behind him, “Hi, welcome to Wendy’s. I’m really sorry about that. Would you like a free Frosty of choice?”

Ahh, to fuck with Brady.

He fills his water cup before taking a seat near the back of the restaurant. Scrolling through his phone, he looks up to find the older man staring daggers at him. He can’t help but laugh to himself; it’s definitely going to be the highlight of his day. He loves how easy it is to rile some people up.

His number is called, and he eats his cheeseburger and fries quickly. Something about learning about RCA, and the early stages of NBC just got him so hungry. It also might have something to do with the half can of Coke, and the menthol Juul hits he had before leaving for class this morning. Either way, it’s his fault for not having food in his apartment.

Soon enough, his phone buzzes, and Brady tells him to head outside towards the trash. He throws his trash away and slips out the side exit. He’s done this routine enough to know where the trash is. It’s come to a bi-weekly thing since they moved out of the dorms after freshman year.

Walking Brady’s way, his friend gives him a nod. His friend shoves his pocket and flashes a plastic bag at him. Quinn nods back. He pulls out the cash from his pocket to rest it in his hand. 

He gives Brady a handshake to slip him the cash. “Here.” Brady hands over the bag.

“Cool.” Quinn nods, “See you later.”

“Please stop coming to my place of work and being an asshole to customers,” Brady groans, “I really would like to not get fired.”

“He had it coming.” Quinn smirks, “I’ve got to go.”

He starts walking away when Brady yells, “I mean it, Quinn. You can’t keep coming here.”

He sends a thumbs up over his shoulder as he walks away. It’s not like Brady can really afford for him to stop this routine. They both have such different schedules this academic term. Usually, Quinn would just head to the guy's apartment, but with both of them working and having a full class load, he can’t always get to the other side of town for a little bit of weed. So, this will just have to do until their schedules line up again.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, it’s only two-thirty, so he still has time before the next bus comes. So, he walks across the street to the strip mall and into a Dollar Tree. He needs to pick up real food at some point.

...

With a pack of off-brand strawberry Pop-Tarts, a loaf of white bread, and a bag of tortilla chips, Quinn climbs the stairs of his apartment building. Carol is leaning against the second floor's handrail with a cigarette in one hand and in the other her phone. The older woman goes to take a drag when she notices Quinn, “Hey honey,” she pulls the cigarette away from her mouth.

“Hey, Carol.” Quinn stops a few steps short of the top. 

The greying woman scans the contents of his arms. It’s not his fault he doesn't get paid for another two weeks. “You know if you keep eatin’ like that, you’re gonna kill yourself.”

Quinn laughs a little before pointing to the dart she’s taken a drag of, “So are you, Lil Smokey.”

Carol throws her head back, laughing at the nickname. He’s called her that since he met her last June. It was the carton of menthols, the brash attitude, and the carefreeness of the older woman that attracted him to her. The woman is old enough to be his own grandmother, but she acts nothing like the stuck up white hair woman that refused to call him anything but Quintin.

“Hasn’t killed me yet,” Carol says

“Well, can I get one then?” He figures it wouldn’t hurt to ask. She will usually give him one while he’s at her place for Sunday dinner. It’s the trade-off; she feeds him and lets him smoke a dart with her if he cleans and does other jobs. 

She shakes her head as she tosses the cigarette bud to the ground and stomps it out, “Only when you stop eaten like shit.”

“Alright,” Quinn laughs, “I let you know when I stop cleaning toilets for a living.”

“And you could have a better job if you didn’t act like such a dead beat.” Thanks, Carol, that one really hurts. Quinn flips the older woman off and receives the finger in return. 

He’s about to continue up the stairs and down their hall when the women speak, “Oh honey; there’s a new fella in the hall. A big guy, 324, right across from yours.” Damn, he’s honestly surprised that someone moved in that place. It’s worse off than his own. “He introduced himself to me. Can’t remember his name, something generic but real handsome. Makes me wish I was young again.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Quinn laughs, “Might scare the poor guy off before you even get a chance with him.”

The woman stares something deadly his way, “Son, don’t worry about my love life. Worry about your own.”

She’s not wrong, though; she’s got some guy from her book club that she’s been seeing. She told him about the man, Ron, several times. They were both lonely after losing their spouses, so they fill their time with each other. It’s kind of sweet when she’s not saying it’s because she needs something more than the company for a five-pound dog and a twenty-year-old idiot stoner.

The woman smirks, “Just remember I’m the only one with a man in this conversation.”

“Thanks.” Quinn pressed his lips together. This woman woke up and chose violence.

“But as I was saying,” She glares, “He’s a bit older than you, but I think you two would get along well.”

Okay, so she thinks he’s lonely, thanks, Carol. Quinn can’t believe this woman. With his luck, she’s probably already shown the man a picture and asked if he was into men. “Alright, I’ll make sure to make him feel welcome.”

Carol pulls the carton of cigarettes out of her pocket. “See yah later, honey.”

“See yah, Carol.” Quinn throws her a wave as she lights another cigarette. 

He takes the last few steps then hurries down the hall. He’s got to be back on campus in three hours, and he’s still got to eat dinner and finish two discussion posts for his media broadcast class. He waited until the due date to do them even though he’s had them for a week, but it’s fine. He’ll just summarize what everyone else said since he hadn’t done the readings since the term started.

And of course, it was just his luck that Matt texted him earlier asking if he wanted to pick up a shift since a member of the night crew had a midterm. It’s not like he was about to say no either. It’s an extra four hours to his paycheck. 

Once inside, the cool February air hits him. It wasn’t all too cold outside, but the open window brings the wind chill inside. He does his best to close it halfway, not bothering to keep it all the way closed cause condensation build-up will only lead to even more mold, and he particularly doesn’t want to spend another weekend hunting it down. He spends enough time cleaning at work. 

Tossing the food on the counter. Open the pack of white bread; he grabs for the jar of peanut butter he forgot to put away from last night. Looking in the fridge, he tries to find his jelly but can’t. “Fuck,” he bangs his head against the closed freezer door; he’d forgotten to get jelly while at the store. So, he goes and slathers on more peanut butter than necessary. His dinner, a peanut butter sandwich with a plain tortilla chip side. 

...

The student union is fairly calm before closing. In his sections, it’s only him, a handful of guests, and Ricky, the full-time custodian he’s assisting for the night. Well, there is also Elias, who is following him around until one of their bosses comes to tell them to stop fraternizing and do their jobs. It’s more likely that one of the building managers will find Elias before Matt finds him. 

Quinn is pulling trash while Elias leans against the wall marking off the checklist he was given for the night. They really haven’t said much to each other, but it’s still nice to have his friend around. Elias makes the job easier even if they don’t always get the chance to work together.

He told Elias about the custodial opening last year when he was job hunting, but his friend's face scrunched up in disgust before going back to pick at his cuticles. Elias decided to apply for the guest services position instead because, as he put it, “He’s too pretty take out trash and clean toilets.” Which okay, fair, it’s a shitty job, and maybe Elias does gets paid half a dollar more an hour, it's fine. A job is a job at this point.

“So, I got a new neighbor today?” Quinn says. 

Elias looks up from his checklist, “Really?”

“Yeah, Carol says he’s handsome, but I haven’t met him yet,” Quinn explains.

His coworker Ricky looks at the two of them as he walks down the concourse with his cleaning cart. The older man wouldn’t say anything to them because he can be found chatting away with anyone who’ll listen. The man likes a chat, and Quinn fully takes advantage of that. 

“You gonna fuck him?” Elias asks loud enough for Ricky to hear as he passes by. The man stops and looks at the two of them, his mouth agape. Elias doesn't say anything, so Quinn figures he will.

“Sorry, Ricky, he’s just messing around.” It’s enough to get his co-worker to nod and move on. Quinn glares at his friend, “Bro, seriously?”

“Well, are you?” Elias asks. 

“Probably not. Probably straight.” He shrugs.

His friend laughs, “Never stopped you before.”

“He’s my neighbor.” 

Elias gestures with his hands like he’s trying to find something to say, but all he can settle on is, “So.” 

“I don’t even know what he looks like.” Quinn finally ties off the trash bag and throws it into the cart. He starts to walk away towards another trash bin with Elias on his heels, “All Carol said is that he’s a little bit older than me.”

His friend catches up, “So he’s your type.”

He would be lying to say that Elias is wrong. “Fuck off. I don’t…”

Elias cuts him off, “You have a type.”

“I do not,” Quinn glares.

“You do, and it’s guys older than you,” Elias writes something down on his list, “cause you know, issues.”

He does not have a type, and even if he did, it’s not old dudes. Maybe he’s fucked around with some guys a little bit older than him, but never anything crazy. It’s not like he’s slept with anyone older than his dad.

“I hate you.”

“Fuck him.” 

There is a student sitting at a table near them; she looks up and smiles. She must have heard Elias cause she’s a little pink in the cheeks. “Bruh, I’m not going to fuck him,” Quinn whispers.

“Why not?”

“One, he’s my neighbor, and two, I don’t know what he looks like, and three, he’s probably not that hot,” Quinn says, putting in a new liner and walks away. Elias follows behind him as they make their way towards the guest services desk. 

Elias grabs his keys to unlock the office for him. Most of Elias' co-workers should be gone since the is usually only one of them working at night. His boss might be there, but she’s most likely down chatting with Matt, or at least Quinn hopes so. 

His friend finally says when they get in the office, “Okay, you’re lying.”

“About?” He wishes he didn’t bring the topic up.

“That you wouldn’t fuck your neighbor.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “Fine, maybe.”

Elias walks over, toss the clipboard on the countertop to only hop up on it. He looks down at Quinn as he begins to pull the small trash bins, “Might do you some good to go get some.”

Looking up, Quinn stares, “You sound just like Carol.”

“The wise think alike.” Elias laughs a little, “It’s been a while since you got any.”

“Yeah, your right,” Quinn sighs, “but like I’m not really looking for anything right now.”

“Sure, you're not.”

“I’m not.” Quinn groans, “I’ve over casual sex.”

Quinn practically jumps out of his skin when a throat is cleared, “How about we keep our conversations work-appropriate next time, gentleman.” Quinn turns to look to find Kaylee, Elias' boss standing in the hallway leading to her office.

“Of course, ma’am.” Quinn nods before glaring over at Elias, who looks like the smug little shit he is.

He just continues on with his work ignoring Elias cause as much as he hates his job, he’d really like to keep it. Rent isn’t going to pay itself, and it would be a cold day in hell if he had to call home. 

…

The walk home from the bus stop can be peaceful at times. Most on the nights when the stars are out. When the sky isn't being obstructed by the grey clouds that hang around for most of the year. He’s gotten used to it by now, but it doesn’t stop him from missing the stars.

The way they light up the night. The way he tries to find the consultations even though he almost always wrong. No matter how much he tried to learn them, he’s never been good about remembering them. It’s not like his parents taught him the stars when he was younger, as some parents do. His dad honestly thought his obsession with them was weird.

He remembers being young, driving home from hockey practice, and would stare out the window. He’d try to tell his brothers about them, but his dad ways just wanted to talk shop about what the three of them could be doing better. Quinn doesn’t think he really ever listened; he just stared out the window and wished he was amongst the stars.

Even now, he tries to find the brightest one. The one that kept him company on nights that he’d be screamed at for not being the best. That star shined brighter than the rest; it stuck out in the sea of glowing plasma. That star was his, and no matter how many times he lost it, he knows he’d always find it again. Even if it took the rest of his life.


	2. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta read cause I will die on that hill.

Everything and everyone wants to see him miserable. The whole world is out to get him, and he knows it. He’s got so much to do and such little time. Not with work, school, and the day-to-day crises that fill his life. He just wants it to be over. To be able to get into bed and not worry about if he forgot if something was due or if he’ll be able to work to cover someone’s shift without a functioning car.

Looking up at his friends across the table, he says, “You think I could sell feet pics?”

Elias looks up from whatever wizardry he’s working on. He doesn't even know what subject Elias is working on. It just looks like magic to him, “Hell no.”

Brock, who’s just lounging in the chair next to him, laughs, “Dude, you played hockey for how long?”

“You right.” Quinn sighs before turning back to his homework, “I want to drop out.”

“Q, your feet are so fucked up I don’t think anyone would want pictures of them,” Brock continues, “Someone would have to be real fucked to want them.”

Quinn glares at the blond, “Thanks.” He tries to go back to his homework but can’t. Brock is laughing to himself, trying to get his words out but can’t because of the giggles escaping his lips. “Can you shut the fuck up?”

“Bud, you got feet a mother couldn’t even love.” Right away, Brock cringes, “I’m sorry, bud.”

Elias punches Brock in the arm, “Why are you still here? Don’t you have to be a babysitter?”

Brock glares at the Swede, “I’m not a babysitter. I’m a childcare assistant.”

“And I’m a custodial assistant. Doesn't mean I don’t clean the bathrooms.” Quinn smiles. Brock rolls his eyes and pouts a little, “Don’t pout; I’m sure if you’re a good boy, you’ll get a sucker.”

The older blond flips him off, “We try not to bribe our kids.”

“Whatever,” Quinn says, “if you’re going to be sitting there, can you at least help me with my paper.”

He’s been staring at the blank doc for the last hour and a half, ‘the ethics of early education’ and has no thoughts about it. He doesn’t know what he could possibly write, well, he does know what he could write, but as much as it comes off as him being an asshole, he doesn’t care. He doesn't give a shit. It’s just for general ed requirements; he’s not some child development major like fucking Brock. 

At least the guy likes what he does. Getting a master’s in human development with a focus in child development tells Quinn enough of that, and as far as he knows, Brock is good at what he does. The guy works on his thesis and actually kind of enjoys it. He enjoys the kids he sees, and it’s kind of annoying.

“No.” Brock starts to get up, “I’ve got to go be a babysitter.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “Yeah yeah, go get lice from a preschooler.”

“I’ll be the first to shave his head,” Elias smirks down at his calculator. 

“Fuck all of you.” Brock grabs for his backpack, “See you two later.”

“See ya,” Quinn says, and Elias just waves without looking up. Once out of earshot, “You didn’t even look at his ass this time.”

Elias looks up, “If I did, I would calculate the gravitational pull of that ass. “ 

“You’ve got it bad.” Quinn sighs, “Just go find another mouthy blond bitch.”

“It’s not that easy,” Elias says, and he’s right. Quinn knows how gone his friend is on the older blond. He’s been gone on him since they met, and it just isn’t going to happen for them. Brock is straight, and well Elias is well, Elias. 

“Sorry, bud.” Quinn shrugs, “You could do so much better than him.”

The Swede shakes his head, “No one is better than him.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. There are so many people much better than Brock. Elias just can’t get over the blond. He doesn’t know if he ever will. Quinn doesn’t get it though, how can anyone be that in love.

…

He heads down the hall towards his apartment. Getting inside, he tosses his bag on the couch then himself. It’s been a long day; he worked the opener, eight to twelve, then studied with the boys for two hours, which shouldn't have killed him, but he hadn’t managed to get any sleep the night before. He’s grateful for today since it’s his day off from classes, but he still hasn’t finished his paper from earlier. It will just have to wait because he spots his pipe on the plastic makeshift coffee table in front of him.

]Quinn finds the sandwich bag Brady had reluctantly given him the other week; it's like the guy doesn't even want the business. Grinding up the weed, he packs a bowl. Then another and another until most of what he ground is gone. He can’t be wasting it; Brady only gave him a couple buds, and it’s got to last him until the end of the week. He’s not about to ask the guy down the hall for any. 

Laying back on the couch, Quinn wraps himself in the red and black flannel blanket that was on the floor. With the window open, cool air dances around the apartment, which is more a blessing than a curse. It’s easier to fix being cold than being hot, which he learned quickly in his unit. 

He stares up at the ceiling. It looks like the mold is growing again, he cleaned it with bleach earlier in the month, but it’s starting to grow in a new place. He’ll get to it on his next day off because right now, his head is light, and his eyes are heavy. Last night and this morning are starting to catch up to him, and with the buzz, it’s easier to let go of the day. 

He doesn’t have to worry about the ever-pending student debt, the ethics paper due at 11:59 pm, rent, a car that won’t start, an almost empty fridge, and the growing loneliness of moving several states away to get a Media Communication degree. Really, it’s the weed and Pop-Tarts keeping him from academically ending it all. His degree doesn’t bring him happiness like it used to.

He was so bright-eyed as a freshman learning about media marketing models and the relationship an individual has with media platforms, but now it doesn’t make him feel anything other than regret. He doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t think he ever will. The only passion Quinn ever had is now just an interesting fact about him and props for his high senior photos. If anyone knew that, it might be troublesome, but other than Carol’s cat Chimney, no one knows how fucked up he is. 

The knock on the door startles him. No one ever knocks. Well, maybe Carol when she can’t open a jar, but besides that, no one would knock. Fuck, it might be Frank, but why would it be Frank. His landlord usually tells him when he’s going to stop by. So, like any logical person, he grabs the baseball bat from the corner of the room to rest it by the door, just in case. This is the only time he wishes he could check his fucking peephole.

Opening the door, Quinn jumps back a little as a large man towers over him. He has to crane his head up a little to look at the man. Quinn ducks his head when the man stares daggers, and he really wishes he didn’t. The stranger has got on a pair of slacks that stretch obscenely over his thighs. When he looks up a bit, the man’s shirt is no better. The buttons look like they want to pop off. Quinn dares to look up again. 

The man is smiling down at him. It’s a polite closed mouth smile that is trapped in by a nice short beard. The man is handsome in a weird sort of rugged way. His hair is slicked back, with the ends daring to touch the tops of his shoulders. Quinn weirdly wants to run his hair through the greasy mess. 

Shit, he’s been staring right at the man. Quinn darts his eyes to the ground again, and the man starts to laugh. It takes a moment before the stranger says, “How stoned are you, kid?”

Shaking his head, he is trying his best to sober up as fast as he can. Oh, fuck, he’s must be a nark. Quinn does his best to look up, but not in the man's eyes. Maybe he can pass his bloodshot eyes off as allergies, or he’s been crying. It’s worked on his boss enough. “I’m not stoned.” Fuck, he’s smiling. He can feel it but can’t stop it. 

The man shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, just like Quinn wants to. God, he’s cute, but like in the, I’ll fuck for a Gucci belt and like it, kind of way. “Oh, for sure, kid.” He laughs again before saying, “I’m Chris. Just moved in across the way.” Oh, so he’s the one that lives in the shit hole. Chris quickly drops his hand, “So my place is a shit hole.”

“Fuck,” Quinn lets out under his breath, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just uh um uh, I’m sorry.” He lets his voice go small in hopes the man won’t beat the shit out of him. He would rather go without getting his ass kicked by a neighbor. Been there, done that, never wants to do it again. 

Looking down at his hands, he’s waiting for the man to speak. God, he really had to go fuck up with his new neighbor. He really needs to watch his mouth or just not answer the door while high. He wraps his blanket tighter.

Maybe he could just shut the door and never see this man again, but that's rude, and he’s already been rude. He told the guy that his apartment is a shit hole. Well, it’s not like his is any better. The fucking peephole is blackened because of fucking aliens. 

He knows the man still stands in front of him. His breath even, thinking. Probably thinking about how to kick his ass. Really it isn’t that hard. All he’s got to do is get him on the floor and blow loads into his sides. It’s worked plenty of times now. 

Finally, the silence is broken after God knows how long, “It’s okay, kid. I get it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I can’t see out of the peephole anymore. The nut job that lived here before me scratched and blacked it out cause he believes aliens were after him.” God, why did he just say that? 

“Shit, kid. You need to get that fixed.” The concern in the man’s voice gets him to look up, “Did you tell Frank?”

He nods because, of course, he told Frank. He told Frank about the fucking window in the living room that in the summer gets stuck at the frame cause the same nut case glued it shut. So now, when it gets warm, that residue heats up, it locks them in. He’s told his fucking landlord about everything wrong with the shit hole, but all Frank said if he doesn’t like it, he can leave. He can’t do that; this is the only place that he can get away paying five-fifty a month with amenities. It’s a steal compared to anything else in town.

Chris scratches at the back of his neck, “Well shit. I can fix it if you want.”

Quinn quickly shares his head, “No, no, you don’t have to do that.”

“Kid, you don’t know who’s at the door. I could have been a murder, and well, your stoned, and that bat isn’t going to do much.” Well shit. He might be right, but he isn’t going to admit it.

“I’m fine.”

“If you reconsider, all you have to do is knock.” Chris smiles, and Quinn thinks maybe this is over, and he can go back to sitting on the couch, but sadly the older man continues, “What your name, kid?”

“Quinn.” 

Chris stretches out his hand, so he takes it. The man’s large hand covers Quinn’s, and oh god, it’s so warm and fucking massive. “Jeez, man, your hand is freezing.” Quinn just shrugs, letting go of the older man’s hand. 

“Didn’t close my window,” Quinn explains.

“Well, close it before you freeze,” Chris smiles.

“Eh, I’m used to it by now.” 

The older man nods before shaking his head a bit, then smiles down at Quinn. “Well, I’m going to get back to making my rounds of introducing myself.”

Is he fucking serious? This man looks like he’s about to serve people court papers; no one is going to answer their doors for him. “Can I give you a piece of advice?” The older man nods, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go introducing yourself. You’ll either get no answers, or someone will try to fight you.” The man’s eyebrows shoot up, “If I thought you were a mark, so will everyone else.”

Chris chuckles nervously, “I talked to a woman, Carol, I think, the other week, and she said everyone was fairly nice.”

Quinn smiles, “Carol thinks everyone has a bit of good in them, but she also is known for giving others cigarettes when they ask, so everyone is nice to her.” Chris nods, “But just keep to yourself, don’t go complaining to Frank, and if a cop asks you if you’ve seen a Sean O’Connell, no, you did.”

Scratching at his beard, Chris says, “Well, thanks, kid. Just know if you need anything, I'm just across the hall.”

“Thanks,” Quinn says, offering a little wave before Chris turns towards his door. 

The older man opens his door, “See you later.”

“See ya around.” Quinn smiles as the man closes his door.

Looking down at the doormat in front of his apartment, it’s tan with little black stars.


	3. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it needs to be said, Covid is not a thing in this universe. I started writing this before Covid and I'm not about to write that in because fuck that. 
> 
> Also here is a playlist to go along with the fic. I'll put in the first chapter as well.  
> [Spotify Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37QPtMIheg19S3GIg4Nmk5)
> 
> Not beta read and I will die on that hill.

Tap, tap, tap, scroll, click. His advisor looks up from his computer to look at him. The man offers him a weak smile. The crystal-clear blue eyes shocked him when he first met Danny a few minutes ago. He can’t get over how gorgeous they are, how they contrast with his dark hair.

If Danny wasn’t his academic advisor and just a random man he saw on Tinder, then he would probably sleep with him. He’s handsome with his dark brown hair and blue eyes and the stubble that shows he's been trying to grow his facial hair out. His dress shirt sleeves are pulled up, and when he runs his hands through his hair, his muscles show through to cotton. Why can’t guys his age look like this?

Hell, the man has even been much nicer than his last advisor. Sure, she was pretty and kind, but it was clear that academic advising wasn’t her passion. So, it wasn’t a shock when a professor told his class last spring that Selena was leaving to go back to school. It took them almost a full academic year to find a new advisor which was dreadful when having to meet with the generic College of Liberal Arts advisors when need be, but it was worth it in the end.

Clearly, it was worth it by the sweet smile Danny gave when he sat down and insisted on being called Danny instead of Daniel. His office was cool as he painted it dark green with white accents while Selena has an ugly orange. The man has been soft-spoken and kind. His office is warm and inviting, while Selena seemed cold, just like her. 

Danny looks up and catches Quinn staring. Shit. The older man smiles at him. Quickly Quinn looks down at his shoes. 

He traces the mud stains around the toe of his Vans. They’ve seen better days. The sides of them have been ripping and fraying for months now. There’s nothing he can do about it now. He just paid rent, and he can’t afford to rack up any more credit card debt. Maybe he’ll take a trip to the Goodwill with Elias.

Danny continues to hammer away on the keyboard. He scrolls down for a moment before grunting in satisfaction when he gets to what he needs. Quinn doesn't even bother to luck up when his advisor hums along as he reads.

“So, Quinn, have you thought about your classes for spring?” Danny says, not looking up from his computer.

“Ugh, yeah.” Quinn says, getting the adviser to look up, “Oh uh, two production classes, a bacc-core, and another major requirement.”

Danny sighs, “Have you thought about summer classes?” Quinn shakes his head, “I think you should. It would give you the chance to finish up your minor and finish some other bacc-core so you can take math in the fall.” He knows he needs to retake math. I killed him. His parents didn’t even know someone could fail with a ten percent in a class, “Summer class sizes are smaller, and you get in-state tuition.”

At this rate, he’s not even worried about the tuition; he’s going to be broke for the rest of his life. It might not have been worth it for a mediocre media communications degree and writing certificate, but hell, the four years of freedom is beyond worth the debt he’s in. 

“If you take a full term's worth of courses, then the likelihood of a spring graduation next year goes up,” Danny explains. 

“Yeah, alright then,” 

The older man smiles, “Perfect.” He scrolls and clicks around on his computer for a few more moments, “Well, for summer, I recommend taking a science and tech course, a western culture course, and it looks like you only need two more courses to complete your minor so maybe take those.”

Quinn nods, not really knowing what to say. It’s not like he knows what he wants to take until hours before his registration date, “Sounds great.”

Danny smiles again before going back to his screen. They’ll probably be wrapping up soon. This is usually as far as Selena got before they were finished. One time she did ask him about what he thought of the campus and how he was adjusting, but besides that, the woman didn’t know much about him. 

The man hums while he scrolls before stopping abruptly. He looks up puzzled, “Did Selena ever ask you about career goals?”

Shit, “No.”

“Strange, considering you are about to start your fourth year.” Great observation Danny, “So what are your career goals?”

Quinn toys with his fingers while trying to form the answer he gives everyone else, “Well, I haven’t given it much thought, but I do have a buddy back home that runs a website and magazine and has told me that I could probably get a job with him.” 

It’s not necessarily a lie. He just changes bi-weekly publication to magazine and town information blog to website. It sounds so much better that way. Quinn doesn't bother to offer up any name either because it’s for a town the size of a nickel and pays the amount that is deemed acceptable by the good lord. So, ten dollars an hour and an Arby’s gift card as a starting bonus.

“That sounds great,” the man smiles, “But is that something that would make you happy.” What the fuck. Quinn stares. He didn’t expect that, “Yes, Quinn, have you thought about what makes you happy.”

“I-ugh I um.” It takes him a moment to collect himself, “Not really.”

The man sighs, “Well, I want you to think about it.” Danny offers a soft smile, “You’ve got some time before you graduate. I’d recommend seeing the career center, but also think about a career that would make you happy.”

Quinn nods, “Alright.”

“You’ve got any questions for me?” Danny asks.

“Nope.”

“Great,” Danny starts to stand and stretches out his hand, “It was good to meet you, Quinn.”

Standing Quinn meets his hand. He shakes it quickly, “You as well.”

Danny comes out from behind his desk as Quinn grabs his backpack and shrugs it on. “Email me if you have any questions.”

“Of course.” Heading towards the door, Danny follows him out to the lobby.

There is a girl on her phone sitting in the lobby. She’s been in a few of his classes but can’t place her name. “Have a good day, Quinn.”

“You too.” Quinn smiles.

He hears his advisor call for the girl, Angel. He takes the stairs two steps at him to get out of the basement. He’s got his photography class in fifteen minutes, and it’s about a ten-minute walk from the Media Comm offices. 

**...**

There is a knock at the door, and Carol tells him to get it cause she’s pulling the roast out of the oven. He didn’t know if the woman was expecting anyone and if she was, she didn’t tell him. Maybe it’s a surprise, maybe one of her kids. Probably not because they are all on the east coast. 

He looks out the peephole to find Chris on the other side. He hasn’t seen the man since he introduced himself a couple weeks ago. Well, Quinn has seen him coming to and from his apartment, but they haven’t chatted. To be honest, Quinn wouldn't know what to say to the man. He’s older, and it looks like he’s got a real job; by the way, he’s always dressed in slacks and a button-up. 

Opening the door, Chris smiles down at Quinn, “Hey, kid.” His voice smooth, and it makes Quinn want to die a little. Okay, this man is kind of hot. 

“Hey.” Gesturing the man in as Carol quickly approaches from the kitchen. 

“Ah, Christopher, you made it.” The woman smiles, “Come in, make yourself comfortable; dinner is about ready.” She points to the couch that Chimney, the charcoal grey cat, is stretched out on. 

Chris nods before asking, “Do you need any help?”

“No, honey, Quinn has already done the chores for the day, and everything else is taken care of.” The old woman quickly leaves the room to tend to the kitchen. 

Quinn takes a seat on the couch next to the Chimney while Chris kicks off his shoes. This is the first time he’s seen the older man, not in dress clothes. The man has got on grey joggers, and a white t-shirt, and fuck do the article stretch in the perfect way. When Chris takes a seat next to him, the fabric of his sweats stretches, showing off the thick thigh muscles. What he’d do...Jesus, he needs to get laid. 

The older man asks, “How have you been?” 

Quinn doesn't bother to look up from Chimney. He continues to stroke the small grey cat’s head, “Not too bad.” It’s quiet again between them. He can feel the heat of Chris' thighs as they press gently into his. He’s got to stop this, so he quickly picks Chimney up and pulls him into his lap. Scooting over, Quinn finally looks up at the man, “How are you setting in?”

Chris huffs a little before, “It could be going better. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Frank to have someone come check out the water pressure in the shower for a while now, but nothing. I put in a maintenance request before that and got nothing.”

Typical. It took Quinn about a month to get maintenance to come out and try to fix his windows during the summer, but they came, greased them, and left. It didn’t fix the glue issue, so Quinn suffered through the rest of the summer with keeping the windows open all day, even when humid and raining. It was better than them sticking shut. 

“Good luck with that.” 

“Figured as much.” Chris stretches to scratch the back of his neck, and a little bit of his shirt comes up. Quinn turns and feels himself warm at the sight of the toned core. “After a bit of Googling, I managed to get it fixed.”

“That’s good then.” There is some clacking of pots and pans, which gets Chris to perk up a little. He had been slumped down, looking comfortable. Carol shouts to them that everything is fine, which gets Chris to relax a little. He looked like he wanted to jump off the couch to see what was happening. “Carol can be a little clumsy.” Quinn offers.

The older man nods, and it stays quiet between them. Quinn continues to pet Chimney’s head until the little thing starts to get restless. The charcoal grey cat stretches before nudging Quinn’s hand away and moves to inspect Chris. The older man smiles down at the little cat.

Chimney settles in the man’s lap. He looks up at Chris with a look Quinn knows all too well, “He wants you to pet him.” Chris just smiles even wider before scratching at the cat’s head. Chimney leans into the touch, he purrs happily. “He likes you. Chimney doesn’t do that for many people. He rarely does that for me.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, “He seems to like you.”

Quinn shakes his head, “Chimney and I got off on the wrong foot. I moved into the complex last June and met Carol. I’d only known her for a few weeks when she asked me to take care of Chimney while she visited her son in Florida. Well, I may have been a little high when Carol was giving instructions for how he likes his food.” He’s not really sure why he is telling this story, but for the sake of Chris' smile, he will continue, “It’s not that he needs his food prepared a certain way, but rather he likes it placed in a certain part of the house. My boss handed me the first aid kit when he saw the scratches all over my arms and face later that day.”

The older man throws his head back, laughing. It startles Chimney enough to jump off Chris’s lap. The man wipes at his eyes and is trying to contain himself. “Jesus, kid.”

“Just so you know, you shouldn’t place the food in front of the fridge and then blend down to get him to try to eat it. You leave it under the desk next to his litter box.” He can still remember the way the rubbing alcohol felt on his cheek and arms. He’ll never trust the cat after that. He won’t be able to forget.

Chris is smiling down at him. Quinn is unable to look away from the man’s brown eyes. He could stare into them forever if he could. They both startle when Carol yells from the kitchen, “Dinner.” It’s probably for the best. He can be making a fool out of himself in front of his neighbor. 

Dinner I pleasant between the three of them. Carol made a roast, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. She really went all out; normally, it’s just a meal she can make with the contents of her kitchen. So usually, it’s just some form of ground beef, Kraft mac and cheese, and whatever vegetable she’s got. She insists on having a vegetable because she doesn’t believe Quinn eats any unless it’s without her making them for him. And the thing is, she isn’t wrong.

They chat about meaningless things. Carol is mostly just grilling Chris for any personal information she can get. It results in Quinn finding out Chris is from Canada, the Toronto area, and that’s he’s thirty, which alright hot. Carol just asks about how he ended up in the states, which is about the Quinn tones out. Fuck, it might be rude, but he watches as Chimney tries to get on the counter to get to the dinner. He waits until the cat is about to take a bite of the roast to swoop in and stop him.

After that, they finish dinner with Carol telling Chris about how she got the little grey cat when she found him roaming around the complex. It’s a nice story that Quinn’s heard a few times now, but he listens anyways until he gets up to start the dishes. He leaves Carol to talk with Chris. The older man is entertaining her with some story about a cat he used to have, so it was a good time to leave the conversation.

Soon enough, Quinn finds himself outside with a cigarette between his fingers. The three of them having an evening smoke. It’s peaceful. A few of their neighbors pass by and smile at them. All of them kind to Carol as most of them know her since she’s lived here for several years at this point.

The three of them are all leaned against the railing. Quinn stares down at the parking lot taking drags of his cigarette, while Carol chats with Chris. Their conversation is centered around Chris’ job, which frankly Quinn isn't sure why it is at this point. He’s not sure if the man is a teacher or not. It sounds like he is, but every so often, the man will bring up a class that he’s taking. Maybe he’s going back to school or something, but if he’s a teacher, then it would explain why he lives in this complex. 

He’s not really paying much attention until he hears his name, “Huh, what.” Looking over at the pair, they are staring at him, “I heard my name.”

Carol tosses her bud to the ground and stomps it out, “And if you were paying attention, you would realize that we weren’t talking to you. I was just telling Chris that you also attend the university.”

So, Chris goes to the same college as him. Quinn gives the man a once over; he might be getting a master's or something. Hell, if he’s getting a bachelor's, good for him. “Oh, cool.” Quinn goes back to his cigarette. 

Chris nudges him, “What are you studying?”

“Media comm with a minor in writing.”

“Cool.” The man smiles.

Carol is getting ready to light another cigarette, “A bit different to what to what you are doing, but can they kid tell you about all these novels that you never heard of.”

It’s true. When the older woman was sick back in December, Quinn would come over after class or before work and tell her all about the books he had to read for classes. She loves hearing about the books even if she didn't fully understand them. She really liked the romance one from his British literature class, but then again, so did he. 

Quinn looks up at the man, “What about you.” 

The older man rubs the back of his neck, “Oh, you know, Math.” Quinn feels a bit like a dick for laughing, but he would never of guess math. Maybe like engineering or even forestry cause the whole lumberjack look, but not math. “Yeah yeah, I know math, but who will be laughing if they need help in math.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, but I just didn’t expect that,” Quinn explains. He’d really like to get math help when he needs to retake it, so he’s not about to piss off the guy.

“Then what did you expect.”

Well, he’s not going to say forestry because he can picture Chris in a flannel, tight blue jeans with an axe chopping wood. “Uh, I don’t know, maybe business or engineering or shit like that.”

Chris nods, “Everyone always thinks business.”

“To be fair, you are always dressed in slacks and shit.” It’s not wrong. He thought the guy maybe worked in an office or was like a bank teller. 

“He’s not wrong Chris, I wasn’t sure what you did till you told me,” Carol says.

“What do you do anyways?” Quinn tosses his bud to the ground to stomp it out.

“I teach undergrad math classes while finishing up my doctoral.” Oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK. This man is hot and smart. 

“That’s cool,” is all he can manage. He doesn't know what to say to him. He could have crossed paths with this man before. He would have remembered if the man was his teacher, but if he was a TA, he would have never known. Fuck, he has to take math in the fall.

Carol shakes her head, “If you had been paying attention before, you would have known that.” Which is fair, “I’m getting chilly. How about we head back inside for some pie.”

Chris sighs, “I'd love to, but I’ve really got to grade some papers tonight.”

“That’s alright hun, Quinn can bring you a piece on his way home.” This fucking woman, “Right, Quinn.”

“Of course.” Quinn forces a smile. 

“Thank you.” The older man's cheeks pinken a little. It’s cute, fuck. “And thank you for dinner, Carol. It was very good.”

The woman pats his arm before giving his bicep a little squeeze, “No problem, honey.” 

“See you both later.” 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Carol says.

“Of course not,” he says with a wave. Once Chris has disappeared down the hall, Carol and Quinn head down towards her apartment. 

“Such a nice man,” Carol says as she unlocks her door. “Even nicer to look at.”

“He really is.”


	4. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we are back at it with another chapter update within 24 hours. And I really busy with classes and is this my longest day of work, yeah, but here I am sitting during my break between class and work updating this fic. 
> 
> not beta read and I will die on that hill.
> 
> I also know almost nothing about Luke Hughes so keep that in mind for this chapter and the ones including him in the future.

It’s later in the evening when Luke calls. There isn’t even a hello when Quinn answers. His little brother hits him with, “Dude, how do I get dad off my ass.”

Of course, it’s about their dad. It always has to do with him, “Quite hockey and be gay.”

Luke sighs on the other end, “I’m being serious.”

“And so am I,” Quinn laughs.

“Dude, come on.” Luke pleads, which okay fine, he should probably listen to his brother, “He’s on my ass, and I’m already stressed out with school, so I don’t need him to keep getting after me about how I’ve been playing.”

Quinn sighs. He knows the feeling all too well. “Luke, just leave him be for a while, and it should go away.”

“Doesn’t go away when he yells at me after every game.” If Quinn could wring their father’s neck, he would. He’s always been so hard on them, and it hasn’t gotten any better.

“Just,” Quinn lets groan, “fine, just tell me what’s going on.” He’s supposed to be working on a photography assignment, but he’ll set that his side for his little brother. Luke matters more than his homework, and he'll tell his professor that without missing a beat.

“He’s nitpicking every little thing about my game. He lists off everything that I could have done better.”

“What does your coach think?”

Luke sighs, “He thinks I’m doing really good.”

“Then what does it matter?” He can feel his brother about to rebut, “He’s the coach, a professional coach nevertheless.”

Luke is quiet for a long moment. He knows how hard it is when in this situation. When he was Luke’s age, he was thinking about the show and quitting at the same time. “But how did you deal with it.”

He’s not about to tell his little brother that he got his dick sucked to forget about everything, so he lies, but only a little. “I’d write.”

Luke huffs a laugh. “About.”

“How far that stick is shoved up dad’s ass.”

His little brother laughs loudly. So, their parents must not be home for his brother to be laughing like that. He knows if their dad was home, he’d be storming into Luke’s room asking him what’s so funny and when he found out who his youngest son was on the phone with, it wouldn’t end well. Anything to do with their dad never goes over well anymore. 

“Really?” Luke asks.

“No, but I’d write about how I felt.”

“Like a diary.”

“Not really. More like a reflection on what I was feeling.” That sounds a lot better than a notebook that he’d write in until he was in tears. He wrote about angry at the world he was for making him the way he was. How the universe did this to him. If there truly is a god out there, he’s not one of his beautiful creations; he’s what the bible thumpers would probably call creature from hell.

If anyone found that notebook in whatever landfill it got sent to, they would know far too much about him. They’d know more than anyone he knew at the time knew about him. They’d know about long nights he stayed up worrying about his future. They’d know about how much he hated his parents for even bringing him into this godforsaken world.

“So, a diary.” Luke laughs, “but whatever.”

“So, dad still got that stick up his ass.”

“You know it. At least mom is bearable these days.”

“She still on her same shit.”

His brother laughs before bring his voice up a couple octaves, “Oh, your brother never calls me. He doesn’t love me. You love me right, Luke. You love your family, right. You wouldn’t pull that shit, would you?”

“Fuck.” Quinn shakes his head even though he knows his brother can’t see him.

“I just give her a smile and nod my head. It gets the job done.” It quiet for a moment when he hears rustling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Mom and dad are home. I was supposed to be doing my homework.”

God damn it, Luke, “Good luck, dude. I’ll talk to you later.”

His brother is clearly rushing to get his things together, “Yeah, talk to you later.” Quinn about ready to hang up when he hears, “Hey Quinn.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.” His voice is uneven, like he unsure of his words. 

It shocks him for a moment. He quiet while he can hear the rushed breath on the other line. Before the line goes dead, he’s about to get out, “Love you too, kid.” He’s not even sure luck heard it in his panic.

Quinn rests his head against the wall beside the bed. He stares out the window while it fights the itch to call his brother back. He wants to tell him that everything is going to be okay. He wants Luke to know that no matter what is said or happens in that house, it isn’t his fault. Nothing is his fault.

Fuck he wants to call his parents to tell them to lay off the kid. He doesn’t need that pressure, he’s only a kid, a young man, but it doesn’t warrant the words his father spits. But he knows if he calls, then Luke will only get it worse. Their parents will through a fit if they found out that Luke was talking to his deadbeat brother over doing his homework or, more importantly to their father, reviewing tape. Luke would really get it, but it’s not the kid's fault that his older brother is a lowlife with no future.

Getting out of bed, Quinn heads for his freezer. He pulls out the bottle of cheap vodka Brock bought him a few weeks ago. It tastes like shit when he takes a pull, but it doesn’t matter when it’s what he needs. So, he takes the bottle back to his room and drinks until it doesn’t take like bottom shelf vodka anymore.

…

Work sucks. It really does. Especially when he hasn’t even started yet, but in the building to know it is going to be shit. There is an event in the ballroom with country music blasting through the union. All he’s trying to do is edit his photos for his midterm portfolio. It could be worse; he could be Elias trying to work on whatever wizardry that is on his paper. 

They both have to start work in an hour while Brock just hangs out till Elias gets off. They're going to some late-night drive-in movie thing since Elias has never been. It sounds like a date to Quinn, but Elias claims it’s not since, well, Brock says he’s straight. Quinn isn’t so sure about that, but who is he to assume? Most people think he just a straight white dude with the personality of an antidepressant.

Elias looks up from his calculator, “You fuck your neighbor yet?”

Jesus Christ, Elias scream it, why don’t you. “No, I haven’t, and I won’t.” Quinn whiskers through his teeth.

Brock's eyes are wide, “Woah woah, what did I miss.”

“Quinner got a new hot neighbor, and he should fuck him,” Elias explains.

“The guy gay or something?” Brock asks.

Quinn glares at Elias, “Great question Brock, I don’t know which is why I won’t even try.”

The Swede raises his hands in defense, “Just saying. I don’t know the last time you got any anyways.”

“It’s been a while.” And by a while, he meant since his birthday six months ago, and it wasn't all that memorable. He’s tired of getting sloppy drunk dick, so he just hasn’t got any. 

Elias shakes his head, “Then sleep with him. Simple”

“Not simple when I finally have to take math again.” Elias raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t I tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“He’s a math instructor here getting his Ph.D.” Elias' mouth falls open before opening his laptop up, “Do not go looking through the math department.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose, “And this is why I don’t tell you shit.”

His friend smiles and doesn't look up. “I will search till I find him.”

“You don’t even know his name,” Quinn groans.

“You know he’ll find him. He always does.” Brock smiles over at their friend, which is sickening.

Quinn tosses one of Brock's pens at him, “Don’t encourage him.”

Brock just smiles as he watches Elias type. It gross; the look on Brock’s face. He looks stupid happy, and that’s all Quinn wants. He wants to have someone look at him like that. The childlike joy that radiates off of Brock every time he’s around Elias speaks for itself, and Quinn just hates the man for it. 

“You don’t even know what he looks like,” Quinn explains.

“I will know. I need to find a gremlin, and then I know.” Quinn takes another pen and throws it at Elias.

“Stop throwing my pens,” Brock says.

Quinn just rolls his eyes before turning back to Elias, “Fuck you.”

“You have a type,” Elias claims.

“I do not.”

The Swede smiles, “Yes, and it is gremlin.” He really wishes he never told Elias about how Chris introduced himself to him and how he had dinner with him at Carol's. He didn’t give his friend much detail, just said he was kind of hot and muscular. Of course, Elias wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to give much more detail than that. 

Elias looks up and smiles wide before turning his laptop. “Is his name Christopher?” This little shit. There sits Chris's faculty profile with his email, office number, and picture. “You have a type.”

“That was quick,” Brock says. 

“You got lucky.” Quinn glares. 

“You have a type,” Elias smirks. “But why not fuck him.”

“He could end up being my instructor.” Quinn groans, “Or like if I need help, then I can go to him, so if I sleep with him, then it’s not going to be able to get help.” Elias just glares at him, “He’s also probably straight and probably seeing someone.”

“Ask,” Elias says simply.

“Petey, Quinner kind of got a point.” Brock buds in, “What if something went wrong? Let’s say the guy is into him; things can still go wrong. Like why ruin a friendship when he doesn't know how the guy will react to everything. Maybe it’s better that Q just befriends the guy and not try for anything more,” Brock is staring at Petey, which is a little sus, but okay, “And you know he works for State, and they are neighbors.”

“Whatever,” Elias huffs.

“I’d also like to pass math and graduate,” Quinn explains. “According to my advisor, I could graduate on time if I took classes in the summer.”

Elias nods, “How did the meeting go anyways? I never asked.”

His advising appointment went as good as it could have. “It was good. He was much better than the last.” 

“That’s good then. I know you hated the last one,” Brock says.

Quinn nods, “Yeah, I did.” Elias nods along with him, “Well, he suggested I take a course load for summer so I can take math during fall so graduate next June. I think I’m going to do it.”

“You know I’ll help you.” And he knows Elias would help him, but he really doesn't want to put his best friend through that. It would be a shit show, and if anything, Elias would punch him in the nose for being such a dumb ass that can’t do simple math equations. 

Brock says, “Petey really is the only reason I passed math.” Their Swedish friend ducks his head as he turns pink, “He was such a good tutor. Always willing to help me even when I needed it.” Elias turns even redder. He wears it like a scarlet A on his pale skin. 

“Thanks, bud, but I’d rather not ruin a friendship over me being a moron.” Elias just shrugs at his answer, “The guy also asked about my future. I just shrugged it off, and he asked me what I’d be happy doing, so I told him I didn’t know. So, he told me to go to the career center and do some thinking.”

“You won’t.” Both friends say at the same time. 

“I know.” Quinn shrugs.

“You should,” Elias says.

“I know.” he shrugs again.

He knows he should go see a career advisor but rather not have someone ask for the hundredth time what he wants to do after graduation. That’s a problem he’s going to shelve for another year or so. 

It grows quiet between his friends and him. Elias is working on whatever he works on, and well Brock keeps looking over at their friend. He’s got this soft little smile on his face. If someone was to pass by, they would probably miss it. Honestly, if Quinn was actually doing his work, he’d miss it as well. 

Fuck he wishes his friend could just look up from his work to see the way Brock looks at him. He wants Elias to see that Brock sees something in him. Something that makes Brock so childlike, like a little boy with a crush. He wants Elias to see that Brock doesn't look at him like people in platonic relationships look at each other.

Hell, if Brock could look at himself in the mirror to see the way he stares at him. His eyes trailing the face of his friend. If he could see the fondness in his eyes, it’s like Elias hung the moon. Like Elias gives him life. Like Elias is the only person in this fucking world that matters. 

God, does Quinn want that. He wants to look at someone and see the stars and the moon. He wants to look at someone and see them in everything he does. He wants to look at someone and know that he wouldn’t be able to live without them. Hell, he wants someone that looks at him like Brock looks at Elias. He wants someone to physically look like they are in love. 

“I really need a fucking boyfriend,” Quinn says.

Both his friends look at him. They both look as confused as he feels right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if yall think certain tags need to be added to this fic. I'm always bad at tagging, so I'd like some input if you have any.


	5. April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is basically where shit hits the fan. When writing this chapter I called it my 'red pill or blue pill' chapter. 
> 
> CW: Quinn used prescription drugs that weren't prescribed to him. It's not all that detailed, but let me know if anyone needs me to put a point to skip to because things like this will happen in a couple more chapters. (Not many I promise)
> 
> Keep in mind that this narrator is very unreliable

Finally, Quinn's schedule lines up with Brady’s. It’s not until the start of the spring quarter that Quinn heads over to Brady’s apartment to pick up his weed. He’s definitely not going to miss getting it from behind the dumpsters at Wendy’s. It should work for the rest of the term, and he’ll just have to get through the summer and then to October before I can finally get it legally.

Brady quickly opens his door when Quinn knocks and pulls him inside. The guy gives him a once over before shaking his head. He’s got his work shirt on, and Quinn pretty sure he smells like the cup of coffee that leaked through the trash back he pulled during the lunch rush. Once he gets what he needs, he’ll be able to get out of the guy's hair.

His friend looks at his phone and groans. “Fuck me.”

“I mean…” Quinn is cut off.

“Fuck off.”

Brady still hasn’t looked up from his phone, “So can I get my gram or not?”

“I’ve got my guy coming up, so hold tight.”

“Your guy?” Quinn smirks, “Brady, babe, why did you tell me. Congrats, who’s the lucky fella.”

Brady doesn’t even look up when he flips him off, “My pill guy.”

“Ooh, why didn’t you just say so.”

“You are such an asshole,” Brady says, walking into the other room.

The thing is, Quinn didn’t even know Brady sold pills. He thought the guy only sold weed and, on occasion, different types of party drugs—whatever who is he to judge a dealer like Brady. The guy sells him weed and doesn’t rip him off either, so it’s a win in his books.

Soon enough, there is a knock on the door. Quinn is about to get it, but then he remembers this isn’t his apartment, so he waits for Brady to get it. Opening the door, Quinn is greeted by a tall and handsome man. The guy has these beautiful ocean blue eyes, their like blue pools Quinn could swim in. Damn, why does the pill guy got to be hot? 

Brady quickly dapped him up as he enters the home. The guy’s eyes fall upon Quinn with a light smile. Brady says something to the guy to shake his head. The pill guy looks back over at Quinn before looking to Brady, “Bro, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend.” Ugh, his voice is smooth. An easy accent to it that sounds so familiar, but Quinn can’t quite place it.

“Not really sure if I say this shit head was my friend.” Brady smirks, but the guy doesn’t look all that impressed, so he continues, “Josh this is Quinn, Quinn this is Josh.”

Josh looks him up and down, “Nice to meet you, Quinn.” The guy gives him a soft smile, just a tug of the lip, and Quinn can’t feel himself go warm. He’s sure that he’s a nice shade of pink all the way from his ears down to his neck.

“I’ll be right back,” Brady says before heading back into the room he was in for the dealer’s arrival.

Quinn goes to make himself comfortable on Brady’s couch. He’s done it enough times before, where he’d stop by to get some weed, but ends up staying for a smoke session and video games. It’s easy to just hang out with Brady; they click, and the guy just understands him. They don’t hang out often, but when they do, it feels like they’ve known each other their whole lives. It’s nice, refreshing even.

“So how do you know Brady?” Josh asks. He’s still hanging around the front door with his hands in his jeans pockets. God, he looks so relaxed and hot in just a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. The guy makes messy waves that work better than anyone he’s seen with wavey hair.

Snapping out of it, Quinn answers, “We lived on the same floor our freshman year.”

“So, you’ve known the shit head for a while.”

“Yeah, guess so. He’s been the plug ever since,” Quinn explains. He’s not sure if the guy is just trying to make small talk or something, but he doesn’t mind at all. Having a hot guy to talk to isn’t a hardship at all.

“What did you come to get then?” Okay, he retracts it not being a hardship because he is just trying to sell some product.

“Weed,” Josh’s eyes linger on his. The baby blues are piercing when he looks into them. Quinn swallows, not able to handle eye contact, he looks down at his hands. Twisting his fingers, he can feel his body go hot under Josh’s stare, “Just a gram.

“You ever try Xanax.”

Quinn looks up to see the guy smirking. Of course, that is what the guy is selling. He figured it might be Adderall like most people who sell pills in college sell, but Xanax makes sense, though, “Yeah?”

“You like it

Hell, no, he hated it. He went face first into a fucking speaker at a house party. He hated the feeling of how his mind and body slowed to a crawl, but the world around him sped around him. But he lies anyways, “It wasn’t bad.”

“You smoke on it.” Jesus, Chris, who even is this guy.

“Drank.” Yes took four shots of vodka on a full bar was a complete mistake.

“See, that’s where you went wrong.” Josh gets up takes a seat on the arm of Brady’s couch. The warmth of Josh’s body is calming next to him. While Josh isn’t right up next to him, he can still tell the guy is built of solid muscle, “Smoke on it. You’ll never experience anything like it.”

That sounds awful, but also, the guy's face doesn’t look like he’s kidding. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, it’s fucking great.” Josh smiles.

The guy slides his backpack off and opens it up to pull out a prescription bottle. It’s full of little pills, Jesus fuck. He swore he won’t do any other drug that wasn’t weed and pretested party drug. If he’s going to do molly, he’s going to fucking test it.

The guy pulls out a full bar. Holding the little pill up, close enough to feel the heat of Josh’s hands against his lips. “I promise you’ll love it.” He guesses that it should be fine. It’s not like he does shit like this all the time, and the last time he did something like this was back during his birthday. So, he’ll be fine.

Josh presses the little pill against his lips, and the guy whispers, “Open.” Which okay, that’s hot. Josh's thumb brushes ever so slightly against his bottom lips as he takes the pill in his mouth. Quinn isn’t one for a dry swallow but does it as he looks at Josh, who is smiling wide. 

“You’ll love it,” Josh promises.

The man stares into his eyes. They look so kind, and oh God, the way he smiles. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe it won’t be like the last time. He’ll be fine. He’ll be okay. It’s just one bar, nothing else with it. Everything will be okay.

Josh's thumb lingers on his bottom lip. The rest of his hand cupped under Quinn's cup, lifting it to look into his eyes, “The next one will cost you.” This fucker.

“I’ve got your cash.” Comes from down the hall. Josh quickly pulls away, but he’s still close enough to get a raised eyebrow from Brady, “And your weed.”

Brady tosses the sandwich bag full of bud into his lap. He places the wad of cash into Josh's hand. The dealer counts over it before digging into his backpack to hand over three prescription bottles. Quinn’s not sure if it’s all Xanax because there are some different shaped bars in the bottles.

Josh heads towards the door, which makes Quinn realize he took the bus to Brady’s. He can ride the bus high off of a little bit of weed, but he’s not about to experience public transit with a full bar in his system. Nope, not happening, so he looks up from his spot on the couch and asks Brady, “And is there any way I could get a ride home.”

Brady glares at him, “Fuck you, no.”

Well, it was worth a shot. Maybe Brady will let him stay until the high wears off because he’s really not sure about smoking on the pill. He can deal with the general effects of Xanax in his system, but he’s not so sure about smoking on it.

Josh speaks up, though, “I can give you a ride home.”

“Sweet.” Josh seems decent enough to trust him with his address, “Thanks.”

Getting up, Brady follows them both to the door. Josh is already out the door when Brady grabs hold of Quinn's arm and pulls him close enough to whisper in his ear, “Be careful with Josh,” Okay, what the fuck, “I’m serious. Be careful.”

It's strange, but Brady lets his arm goes and pushes Quinn out the door. Josh flashes a bright white smile over his shoulder, getting Quinn to follow him down the hall. He’s not really sure what Brady means, but the guy can’t be that bad.

...

The pipe hits in Josh’s car were a big mistake. They were a huge mistake. Josh said he’s like how he feels, but it feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. The guy promised while they sat in a Taco Bell parking lot that everything would be okay when Quinn told him he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smoke. The guy told him he does this all the time, so he figured he’d be fine, but if he were to stand up, he’d fall right back down. His whole body is heavy, while his head feels unbearable light. Like it could float away. 

He’s staring up at the mold spotted popcorn ceiling. His mind making pictures with the black speckles on the creamy backdrop. All like some fucked up Rorschach test. The more he looks at them, the more that twisted pictures come to life. Fuck is he seeing things. 

He goes to shake away the blurred images but regrets it immediately. Nausea rises from the pit up of his stomach to the center of his throat. His chest burns, and his heart races. He’s going to be sick and can’t get up. Doing his best, he tries to sit up but fails; he’s not about to yack on his couch again. 

Quinn manages to sit up, but without even realizing it, he leans forward and falls face-first into the plastic coffee table. It being the flimsy thing it is, the legs collapse under his weight. Yep, this is how his night is going to end; face-first into old Chinese takeout boxes. 

The one good thing to come out of this is that he doesn’t feel any pain. It might be the drugs in his system, but nothing feels like it’s broken or anything. What isn't a good thing would be the knock at the door. For one thing, he’s pretty sure he can’t get up, and two, there’s a chance he’d yack before even getting to the door. So, all he manages is, “Who is it!”

“Chris.” Well, that’s just great, “You okay?” Not even in the slightest, “It sounded like something fell.”

He doesn't say anything for a moment, so the jiggling of the doorknob is heard through his apartment. It’s more of a shock when the door opens than he thought it would be. Quinn swore he locked his door. 

“What the fuck,” the man rushes to his side, “Are you okay?”

Quinn does his best to shake his head. 

“Do you need help up?”

Right now, he’s starting to feel like a child, but he really does need some help. “Please.”

Chris doesn't move. He’s just standing there. Really all Quinn can is the man’s feet. “Can you roll over?”

He tries, but the gymnastics going on in his stomach isn’t going to allow it. “No.”

The older man sighs, “Alright.”

The feet disappear until he can sense Chris standing behind him. It takes a moment before he feels hands wrapping around his waist. Slowly they trail across his stomach. If he wasn’t so fucking high right now, this might be fucking awesome but consider it feels like the whole world is spinning around him, things would be better. 

He’s being lifted up; he manages to get his legs under him. Okay, maybe the world is spinning, and it feels like he’s going to yack, but he appreciates being wrapped in Chris’s arms. His arms strong around his waist, holding him in place. 

Chris’s breath is even at the back of his neck. It’s slow and steady pace keeps Quinn's mind calm. “Can I move you to the couch?” Chris' voice tickles as he speaks. 

Sitting on the couch, Quinn looks up at the old man, “Thank you.”

“What even happened?” 

“I got really high and tried to sit up cause I was nauseous.”

The man shakes his head, “Jesus, kid.” Chris looks around his apartment, “But why the fuck is your door unlocked.” Quinn just shrugs. He thought he locked it, “It’s not safe, especially when you’re like this.” Chris gestures to the broken table. 

Quinn looks down at his hands. It’s like he’s a kid being lectured for breaking one of his mom’s collectibles, “I’m sorry.” 

Chris sighs, “It just scared me. That’s all.”

“Still sorry.” His voice small, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

The man takes a seat next to him. It was until now that he realized how cold he was, not until he can feel the heat of Chris’s body. “You didn’t mean to get really high.” Quinn shakes his head slowly. “It just kinda happened.”

Quinn nods, “Yeah.”

Chris places a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth, “It’s okay.” 

They stay like that for a moment. It’s just the two of them, and Quinn is starting to feel at peace. Maybe this is what Josh was talking about. Maybe this is the experience he was talking about. Maybe this feeling of quiet peace was the experience that Josh said he would love. At this moment, it’s like the world has stopped.

Chris is a warm presence next to him, and that all he can focus on. The solid body radiating warmth is comforting. He doesn’t startle when Chris pulls him closer either; he just settles. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder and listens to his breath. It’s strong and even.

He allows himself to let his eye shut. He feels his breathing slow to a place it hasn’t been all night. Nothing else matters right now. His mind is blank. It’s the feeling he’s been searching for his whole life. The emptiness that can’t be achieved by weed alone. He’s calm, a feeling he hasn’t in a very long time.

And then his world starts right up again. It starts with a voice, “You want some water?”

It takes a moment for his brain to register the question, but he manages to answer, “Please.” Chris stands and heads into his kitchen, “there’s a pitcher in the fridge.”

With the soft open and then close of the fridge. He hears the water being poured then the pitcher being put back into the fridge. Chris comes back over and hands over that glass with their fingers brushing. The older hand's hand warm against his cold fingers.

Chugging back to the water, Quinn hands it back to Chris, who takes the glass back to the kitchen. Coming back and over, Chris stands in front of him and looks at the broken table, “You’re going to need to get a new one.”

“I know.”

The man sighs, and his eyes change. Quinn is not sure about the look, “Well, I should probably go.”

Quinn can’t even stop himself from saying, “No.” 

“What?”

“Please don’t,” His brain filter has definitely stopped working, “I ugh ugh please.”

The man nods and sits back down. He’s at the far end of the couch this time. Chris grabs for the remote in the ruins of the coffee table and turns on the TV. The man doesn’t even bother to ask. He just puts on X-Files since it was the last time on the TV. Quinn had been re-watching the show the other day and hadn’t clicked off from it since.

Quinn isn’t really paying attention as he just stares at the TV but doesn’t retain what is happening on it. All he can focus on is how cold he is. It’s not even all that cold outside, with the spring humidity taking full force. But it doesn’t stop his hands from feeling the evening chill.

There’s a breeze that comes through the open window that sends a chill down Quinn’s spine. Chris notices, “You want me to close the window?”

“Nah,” Chris raises an eyebrow as if he’s asking if he’s sure, “If you close it, the sun will melt the glue and glue the window shut.”

“Glue?”

“The nut job lives here before me; glued the windows shut.” Quinn just shrugs.

“Jesus Christ.” Chris sigh, “Just another thing I need to fix here.”

Quinn just shakes his head. Chris can’t go around saying shit like that this late at night, or Quinn knows he’ll have some very interesting dreams. Dreams of Chris using power tools, him getting hot so he pulls off his shirt, sweat dripping down his abs, and God does Quinn need to get laid. It’s just not fair of Chris to put that image in his head.

The older man stares at him for a moment, “Come here.” He pats his thigh, “Lay down if you want.”

And Quinn isn’t about to be told twice. He tries his best not to lunge at Chris. He thinks he manages not to, but the smile the man gives him he knows he’s probably wrong. Chris continues to smile down at him before he wraps an arm around Quinn's waist. It’s relaxed like Chris isn’t even thinking about it.

It works, though. Quinn being too warm a little with Chris's body heat. His hands are still cold, so he tries to tuck them under Chris's thigh but can’t manage to squeeze them under. He continues to try until he can get one of them under. He might have his tongue stuck out trying to get the other one under, but Chris won’t budge.

There is a laugh that ripples through Chris's body. Looking up, the man has got his head thrown back as he cackles. It takes a moment for the man to center himself, but he when he does, he says, “Jesus, you don’t give up, do you.”

“Nope,” Quinn says with a pop of the P.

Chris shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. Quinn is about to push him for it, but it is cut off by the shock of Chris taking hold of Quinn's free hand. Jeez, this is everything he ever wanted. He wishes he could keep the man around as a personal hand warmer cause this is amazing. Chris got these massive hands as wraps around his perfectly.

The man turns back to the TV but keeps Quinn’s hand held tight. Chris's arm is rested perfectly crossed his waist while he holds their hands close to Quinn's chest. His thumb brushing lightly at his skin. It’s amazing, and Quinn honestly didn’t think it could get any better than this until it does.

It a little way into the second episode when Chris sinks a hand into Quinn's hair. He’s not sure the man realized cause when Quinn startles the touch, the older man is about to pull away, but with a shake of his head Quinn doesn’t let him. So, they go back to watching TV. Chris absently petting his head with little strokes of his thumb. It stops the strokes on his hand, but this is so much better than the light slide of a thumb across his knuckles.

All Quinn needs to do is have Chris whisper some words of praise or just kind words then he’ll have his fantasy complete. He could die happy if Chris called him a sweet name and told him that he’s good. It might sound sick to others, but all Quinn wants is to be told he is good. He doesn’t know the last time that he was ever told that he was good or even good at something. He misses it, and he just wants it back.

…

Quinn doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but when he wakes up, he’s alone. There’s a blanket laid on top of him and a piece of paper under his head.

**_I took your key to lock up._ **

And right below it is Chris’s phone number. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I post this chapter at 1 am when I have to be up at 6:30 for work. Yep. Is it necessarily my fault, not really. I got caught up talking to my roommates for 2 hours while I was supposed to be editing this.


	6. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I tell you it's been a week. It's been a week. I'm swamped with projects and papers. Got to love midterm season. But nevertheless, my stress relief gives you a long chapter. It was originally longer but I decided to cut a part out and use it for later.
> 
> The parental issues Quinn has is on full display in this chapter. Maybe things will start making sense for his character. 
> 
> Anyways, no beta and I'll die on that hill.

Chapter 6

Luke

**Call mom**

**Please**

**Quinner please**

Shit what happened

I was at work

**Your brother doesn’t love me**

**He doesn't love this family**

Shit kid, I’m sorry

**I just need a break.**

**You know**

Let me pack a bowl and then I’ll call. 

**Thank you**

Quinn does as he tells his brother. He packs a quick bowl and then another before hitting dial on his mother’s contact. It takes a few rings before she picks up.

“Quuuintin.” She draws out, “I was just talking to your brother about you.”

“Good things, I hope.” That requires her to have to say something nice about him, to begin with, “Just calling to check in on everyone.” 

His mother pauses for a moment. He hears her breath, even and calm, “We are well. Your dad is at work.”

It’s well past eight pm at home, “Oh, he's working late tonight.”

“He’s been doing a lot of that lately.” His mother sighs, “He got a new secretary.” 

Quinn’s really not sure what to say about that. He’d rather hear about one of her country club friends over his father and his new secretary. It’s been quiet for a beat too long, so Quinn just offers, “Oh, that’s cool.” It’s quiet between them again. He doesn’t know how to make small talk with his own mother. “You met them yet.”

“Briefly.” There is a clinking on the other end. “Pretty, blonde, you know young. About your age. She just got out of school.” His mother sighs again before taking a loud gulp of whatever she is drinking, “Never mind your father, what have you been up to.” She's surprisingly nice, which he’s not sure if it’s a product of the weed or if she’s just being nice.

He can’t exactly tell her, same shit different day without her going off on him, so he settles on, “Working, going to class, I hung out with Elias the other day.” 

She hums, “Nothing else.” She takes another drink, slurping on the other end, “You read any books lately.”

“Not recently. I’ve got this historical drama in my backpack, but I haven’t gotten around to read it.” He doesn’t even realize it till the lie comes out of his mouth. It’s stupid; he shouldn’t have to lie about things like this. It’s a book; he’s halfway through the regency romance novel but lies to his mother anyways. “I’d think you’d like it.”

“Maybe,” This conversation has been far too pleasant. Quinn’s now just waiting for the other shoe to drop, “But I’m rather busy these days to read.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“So, is there anything new?”

It’s like she’s searching for something. He’s got nothing to tell her. “Nope, not really, you know I don’t do a whole lot.” 

“No, I don’t, Quinn. You never call me.” God fucking damn it, “The only time I hear about you is from your brothers. I had to hear from Luke that you were staying at school for the summer. You didn’t even ask your father and me before you decided to do that. Do you know how much money that costs? You don’t care, do you? You are so far away that it’s not even important to you. Your father and I have to think about Jack and Luke, you know. You’re not the only one in this family.”

He takes a moment as she goes off on her rant to mute the call. He grabs the pillow next to him and screams. He screams and screams and screams. He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have told Luke he’d call; he should have just told him he’d try and never call. It wouldn’t be fair on his brother, but it would keep him sane. 

Turning the speaker back on, his mother is still going, “You have no idea what it cost to keep you in school.”

Quickly he unmutes the call, “Yeah I do, and I’m going to have to pay my loans back.” with no thanks to them. It’s not like they really pay for him anymore. They got one emergency loan for him the winter term of his freshman year, and that is it. 

“You could have had scholarships.” She practically screams through the phone. 

“We are not starting on that.” He’s not about to get into a screaming match with his mother because it will only result in him having a breakdown and crying in the bathroom till two in the morning. He’s got a paper to work on, so it’s not in his cards tonight, “I called to see how you were, not to fight.”

There is a deep breath on the other end, “Fine. Just fine with me.” She takes another gulp of what she is drinking, “So seriously nothing new? Nothing interesting happened in class or at work.”

“I got a new neighbor.” is all he can think of.

“They nice, weird, or haven't you talked to them?”

Of course, “No, we’ve talked. He moved in at the end of February and introduced himself. I’ve also had dinner with him at Carol’s. You remember Carol.”

“Ah yes, the infamous Carol.” He can hear the smugness through the phone, “How can I not remember her when one of your few friends is a retiree with a smoking habit.”

He takes a deep breath. He’s just gotta let that one go, “Yeah, that’s her. Well, she invited him over for dinner a couple of weeks after he moved in. Chris is a nice guy. Oh yeah, his name is Chris. He’s teaching while getting his doctorate in math at the college.”

“Anything else of note.”

“No, we really haven’t talked since. I’ll see him in the complex, but it seems like he works a lot.” It is better that he leaves it at that. He’s not about to explain how they are actually talking more after the guy helped him down from a high. 

“Hmm, figured you’d might try to find another friend your age.” 

Not this shit again. He’s not high enough to deal with that. Not the whole, you only have like three friends your age and the rest of forty plus. “Ma, Chris isn’t that old. He’s only thirty.”

His mother laughs on the other end before there is come clicking off glass. She must be drinking, “Only thirty. I don’t know many kids your age that likes hangout out with old men.”

“He’s not old,” Quinn groans.

“He may not be old, but he’s older than you. Like most of these men are.” There are more sounds of glass and gulps.

“What is that supposed to mean.” Quinn tries his best not to scream. He doesn’t want to get into this with his mother.

She doesn’t even respond to him right away, rather calling for Luke to get her another bottle of wine. It’s a moment before she says, “I think you know exactly what it means.”

Nope, he’s not doing this tonight, “So what have you been up to?”

Just like that, he lets his mother go off about something one of her co-workers did. She tells him about Jack and how well he’s doing at Michigan, like he doesn't pay attention to his games. He doesn’t say much, just agrees with her, and hums a response when need be. It takes another hour and a half to get off the phone with her, and by the time it’s over, his high is gone. It’s been replaced by a sickness in his stomach and tightness in his chest. 

…

Midterms are always such a pain in the ass. Midterms during week eight of ten week-long courses are even worse. He’s been bouncing from project to project in hopes to finish them before the due date. He was doing really good with the video and photoshop projects for both his production classes; he actually started the presentation for his geography class early, which really help when he realizes that he forgot about his ad campaign for his media writing class. He bangs his head into the wall when he gets the notification on his phone right before work starts.

His prof sent out a reminder that they need to get their project done by 9 am. Quinn forgot that it was a thing between working on finishing up his midterm projects and thinking about the start of finals. He’ll forever hate the quarter system and professors that think having nothing but midterms from week four to eight is a good idea. It likes he’s had a project or a midterm due every day for the last four weeks. He just wants it to be over, but yet it’s not. He’ll be starting summer classes in a little over a month.

Opening the assignment pdf, he briefly remembers checking it when it was assigned. What he forgot about in the assignment instructions where it clearly states this project cannot be put off until the night before. Well, he’s going to have to; he’s got fifteen hours before it’s due. He’s going to have to get started like now, but he also can’t just miss work while he’s already sitting on the couch in the lounge.

His tall blond manager walks in. He’s got a snapback on with an anime character printed on it, he’s not sure what it is, but he does remember when he was high and asked Matt about it. The guy went off talking about the plotline and how good of it show it was. At the time, Quinn told him he’d watch it but never did, so now his manager will give him anime recommendations. He should probably tell the guy to stop, but he doesn’t want to break his heart cause he always looks so happy when he tells Matt that he’ll give it a watch.

His manager is assigning his five other co-workers where they are headed for the night. Just like Quinn expected, Matt gives him the concourse. It’s his second home at this point. He’s been working up there with Ricky long enough that it comes as a shock when Tony puts him in the food court or out at one of the child care centers. It doesn’t happen too often cause they know he does the best job up there.

He waits while the rest of his co-workers file out of the room and up the stairs. Matt raises an eyebrow at him. Quinn hasn’t clocked in yet or even grabbed for a radio and keys. The man just sighs and takes a seat in his desk chair. He turns to Quinn, “You need something?”

Quinn nods, “Can I ask a favor.”

“Depends.”

“I know this is really short notice, but I’m on the concourse, and you know I usually get things done early there, so I was wondering if I could either start an hour later or end an hour early to work on a project,” Matt sigh, but doesn’t look angry with him, “I know, I know. I’m really sorry, but I forgot about the project, and it’s due in the morning.”

“Quinn, dude.”

“I know.” Quinn groans, “I’m always done with the concourse early, so if I start an hour later than usual, I’ll still get it done.”

“I don’t know.” Matt pinches the bridge of his nose, “Let me radio Tony.”

“Why are we radioing Tony,” comes from behind them. He knows it, Tony, without even having to see the guy. “What’s going on?”

“Quinn wants to know if he can start an hour later so he can work on a project,” Matt explains.

His boss throws his head back with a small laugh, “You forget about it.”

Scratching the back of his head, Quinn says, “Yeah.” 

“He’s on the concourse…” Matt begins, but Tony cuts him off.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Tony flicks on his radio, “Just take keys and a radio now and then clock on your phone. By the time you start, Ricky will just be getting into Bean.”

“Thank you.” Quinn goes to grab a radio and a set of keys, “You guys are lifesavers.”

Tony waves him off, “Yeah yeah, just don’t make a habit of it.”

“Of course.” Quinn nods as he shrugs on his backpack.

“I’m not worried even in the slightest about that with you,” Tony smiles. He’s currently the most reliable employee. He hardly ever drops shifts and always picks up the extras.

Going upstairs, he takes a seat out in front of Bean. The baristas are just clearing out for the night, so he’s got enough to start his midterm. Ricky won’t be down to the café for another hour, so he’s got to grind it out.

…

He creates his fictional company and product, Multa Paucis, with their newest notebook Alibi. He only did the names in Latin because he had a Latin phrase website pulled up for his geography presentation. He thought the names sounded cool for a company that sells notebooks. Multa paucis being ‘say much in few words’ and the notebook Alibi being ‘elsewhere’ and for his tagline being ‘ad asta per aspera,’ ‘through adversity to the stars.’

Getting up from the table in front of the café Ricky greets him with a wave. He was able to bust out his opening memo. It’s only a draft and definitely not good by any means, but it’s enough to be happy about for an edit later. But for now, he’s got a job to do.

…

Quinn isn’t proud to admit it, but he practically ran to the library when he clocked out of work. It’s not even ten o’clock when he gets into the library. It only took him two hours and forty-five minutes to get through his shift when he's scheduled for four hours.

He runs up to the top floor, the quiet floor. The fifth floor is for those who want to study with little distraction, and that’s what he really needs. The only way that he’ll get the project done is if he’s on this floor. He learned that his freshman year when he practically got shamed for taking up a table and not working.

He needs the judgment and shame of others to get his work done. It’s why he studies with Elias and Brock. They’ll shame him for anything at this point.

Finding a table in one of the corner lounges. Looking around the room, most everyone got their heads stuffed in front of their laptop or textbooks, but one. There is a man staring right at him. It’s Chris.

The man gives him a short wave, and Quinn gives on in return. He quickly pulls out his laptop, chargers, and his bottle of water. He also snags the yellow hoodie that he stuffed in it before work. Quinn pulls it over his head, giving it a smell; he reeks of the weed he smoked before going to work.

Opening his laptop, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He puts in his earbuds and does his best to speed through the second memo he has to write before looking down at his phone. His phone vibrates a few times showing that he’s got some texts, but he doesn’t open them until he finished the memo. Looking at his phone, Chris had texted him.

Chris

**Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here.**

**Weren’t sure you even studied**

Funny

Quinn looks over at Chris. He sees when the guy gets the text because he looks up and smiles. So, Quinn texts him again.

Chris

I’ve got a project to finish.

**No wonder you are working at lightning speed.**

I’ve got a playlist with the Mario Cart music.

**Like the racing songs.**

Yeah, but it played faster.

**Why.**

Cause the anxiety makes me race to finish.

**That sounds awful**

It keeps me from crying in the library.

**You forgot about your project.**

Yep.

It’s due at 9 am, and I worked on it for an hour before work.

**Jesus kid.**

Quinn just puts his phones aside. Chris looks to be getting back to his work so, Quinn figured he might as well get cracking on his. He reads through the assignment example for the McCann-Ekrison role-play activity. He has to create a fake person that he believes would appeal to his product, so he’s able to get through it fairly quickly. He gets it done in a little over a half-hour. It might be shit, but he doesn’t care cause what’s going to take the longest is the two-page research paper he has to put together.

He finds it absolutely ridiculous that he has to put together a research paper for this assignment, but he has to do it. He goes through the library database and manages to get a few papers pulled. Right about now, he wishes he was on one of the regular floors because it would be expectable to cry there. The quiet floor is basically just those trying to power through the breakdowns and trying not to get distracted by others’ breakdowns.

Placing his head on the table, he bangs it a little. He picks his head up when he gets the urge to cry. If he’s going to cry, he’ll go to the bathroom, but he doesn’t get the time for that. It is almost 11:30 pm, and he’s still got half a project to finish. He’s got to take and edit his campaign flyers and then his closing memo. The thing is, he should probably do the storyboard as extra credit, but if he doesn’t have the time, he won’t.

Wiping the tears and sleep away from his eyes, he hears his phone vibrate on the table. Looking at the screen, it's Chris. 

Chris

**I’m gonna take a piss.**

**Watch my shit.**

**You need your water bottle filled.**

Quinn shakes his orange Hydro Flask; it’s almost empty.

Yes, please.

Chris gets up from his table and puts his phone away. He walks over to Quinn’s table with his water bottle in hand. The man takes him with a polite smile then continues on walking.

In the meantime, Quinn messes around on his phone. He takes a Snapchat and sends it to his group chat with the boys. He knows neither of them are up. Elias has an eight am, and Brock just goes to bed early now. It’s weird now. His two friends are really starting to act like adults. Them going to bed early, eating somewhat healthy, and not drinking like they used to. It’s just strange to think about because just last year, they were fucked head going out every weekend and partying. Now Brock has commitments, and Elias just doesn’t feel like it without Brock being around.

Just then, there is a can and water bottle set in front of him. Looking up, Chris smiles wide and shows his own can of Red Bull. This guy is a lifesaver. He needs a pick me up, but he can’t afford to buy anything right now. He doesn’t get paid for another three days, and he got the account was below twenty-five dollars message a few days ago. It’s been a struggle.

Chris goes to take his seat. The man pulls out his phone, so Quinn grabs his to see if the guy messages him. He sees the little bubble pop up, so he waits.

Chris

**Figured we both needed one.**

Thank you so much.

What are you working on?

**My thesis.**

Gross. Enough said.

They both go back to their assignments, but it doesn’t stop Quinn from stealing glances at Chris as he works. He’ll look up to see Chris look like he’s in the middle of a crisis. The poor guy has got one hand buried in his hair and the other scrolling. He’ll take his hand out of his hair every so often and use it to type. He feels bad every time he sees it; cause Chris just looks so frustrated.

Quinn is in the middle of reading an article about the emotional connection of physically writing in a journal when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He practically jumps out of his skin. Looking up, it’s not Chris like he suspected. It’s a kind eye security guard. He looks sorry for scaring Quinn.

The man asks for his school ID since it’s after midnight and the library is now closed to the general public. It’s twenty-four hours for students and staff, so they have to check the IDs of everyone. The man hands his ID back, and he goes back to reading.

He’s halfway through his third reading when he wants to go home. It’s been a long day. He’d worked all night on his geography presentation before having to get up for his noon class. He got about 6 hours of sleep, which is probably the most amount of sleep he got all week. It’s just he wishes he had more. He wishes he didn’t forget about a stupid ad campaign.

Quinn has his face buried in his hands. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palm. It’s just past twelve-thirty, and he feels like he’s losing his mind. All the words he’s reading are starting to sound the same, the numbers in the data aren’t making sense, and God, he’s just so fucking tired. The reading is putting him to sleep.

He does his best not to tear up. There’s no point in crying over shit like this. He’s been told that so many times in his life. In words from his dad, “we only cry at three things in life: death, you birth of your first child, and if you win the Stanley cup.” But those words never stopped the tears from leaking down his face as a child.

When his dad would scold him and give him the speech about how “crying is for the weak.” That he was an example for his brothers, that they’d follow his lead. That a good hockey player might cry, but I great one will never shed a tear in their lives. Cause he’ll forever be a hockey player first and his father’s child second.

His phone vibrates, pulling him out of thought.

Chris

**Get up and go for a walk.**

**I’ll watch your stuff.**

Can’t.

**Yes, you can.**

**It’s good for you to take a break and stretch your legs.**

**Don't let them go stiff.**

Okay, grandpa.

**Go stretch.**

Quinn rolls his eyes and gets up from his seat. He won’t admit it to Chris, but when he stands, his joints scream. After years of hockey, his body has finally caught up with all the damage the sport did. He can’t sit for long before his knees go stiff. He shouldn’t have this issue at twenty, but here he is.

Walking past Chris, he glares at the man. His friend shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing to himself. Quinn just shakes it off and heads down the hallway. He takes a lap of the quiet floor before going down the floor below them. He walks around there until he finds a bathroom.

Leaving the bathroom, he heads down yet another floor and then another until he’s on the ground floor. He’s got to climb five flights of stairs, so he just waits for the elevator instead. He did enough climbing of stairs at work.

Walking back over to his table, he gives Chris a short wave when the man catches him. Chris smiles back at him. He’s about to pull out his phone to tell Chris that the walk did him some good, that it actually gave him a little bit of a boost of energy, but he doesn’t when he sees what the guy texts him.

Chris

**Good boy.**

🖕

Putting his phone back down, he taps his Air Pod to change his song and gets back to work. The reading starts to come easier with the fast tempo of the song. He jots down a few notes and quotes he’s going to pull for his paper. Just like that, he gets into the fourth paper and doesn’t even have to read the whole thing before getting enough information for his paper.

Quickly he types out several paragraphs, not really worrying about the comprehension or grammar. He can do that when he edits it in a few hours. He does do the in-text citations because if he doesn’t do them now, he won’t ever get them done, and those are worth like ten points alone.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when he looks up, Chris is gone. The guy's stuff is still sat on his table, but when Quinn checks his phone, he doesn’t have anything about watching his stuff. It’s not like Quinn is all too worried about Chris’ stuff going missing either. The library at two am doesn’t seem like the place to steal shit from.

Hell, Quinn has left his laptop unattended during the middle of the lunch rush in the student union’s food court. It didn’t go missing, but then again, it wasn’t his new MacBook, but the cheap little Chrome book he had since sophomore year of high school. It was a cheap little thing that his parents bought for him after Jack accidentally broke the laptop they shared by dumping a bottle of Gatorade on it.

Quinn just goes back to working on the closing memo since he figures he should wait to do the pictures until last. This memo is probably the easiest one. It is the only thing actively talking about how he will advertise for the fictional company. The rest of the assignment is more of implementing research practices while this is the only part that talks about how to advertise. Probably considering this is just the major required writing course and not actually a class involving advertising strategies. Whatever it is, the last part is easy for Quinn, and he’s grateful for that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Chris approaching. Looking up, he smiles at Chris, who’s walking towards him. The man has got a brown paper bag full of things. Once he’s in front of Quinn's table, he pulls out a plastic-wrapped turkey sandwich and a bottle of Coke. Quinn just searches the man’s eyes; the guy can’t be serious.

Chris uses his free hand to squeeze his shoulder before walking away. If the man asks, he’s going to blame the watery eyes on allergies. This guy is a serious angel. He opens his phone and quickly types.

Chris

Thank you.

Just tell me how much and don’t worry I’ll pay you back.

Quinn doesn’t bother to look at the response right away. He unwraps his sandwich and digs in. It’s so much better than the cup of instant mac and cheese and apple he had earlier. It wasn’t enough then, and he’s not sure he would have been able to get through the night without eating anything else.

He takes a drink of his soda and opens his phone.

Chris

**Just seeing you eat something is enough.**

**That sounded weird.**

**Just you need to eat more.**

**Let me guess, you haven’t eaten recently.**

It’s oddly really kind of him. The only person who really cares about what he eats is Carol. She’s always getting on to him about eating better. It reminds him of how his mom used to be. She was always shoving food in front of him; it was like she knew when he was hungry. Somedays, he wishes she still cared like she did back then.

Quinn looks over at Chris. The man has got his face stuffed full of his sandwich. He catches Quinn staring at him, and he sends up a goofy smile and thumbs up. He looks almost embarrassed, which makes Chris look a little dorky. He never thought Chris could look dorky, but here he is.

Thanks, I guess.

I haven’t ate since like 5.

I was getting hungry.

**Next time I get up, I’m getting you a bag of chips.**

I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed.

What he doesn’t expect is for Chris to get up from his spot. The guy wipes his hands on his pants and walks down the hallway. If this guy comes back with a bag of chips, Quinn’s not sure how he’ll be able to stop from throwing himself at Chris. Hell, he’s not sure what will stop him from sobbing. Right now, he could probably cry if someone looked at him the wrong way.

His friend comes back down the hall holding a few items in his hand. Chris places a bag of plain Lays and a bag of mini Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies. Chris is about to walk away, but Quinn snatches his hand. The man raises an eyebrow. Quickly Quinn gives his hand a quick squeeze trying to say thank you in one little touch.

Pull his hand back, Chris gives him a short smile before heading back to his spot. Looking down at his phone, it’s fifteen till three am. With a quick glance around the room, it's only a couple at a table, three others at separate tables, Chris and himself. He can’t imagine the library is all that full anymore.

He finishes his food while he watches a few TikToks. The mindless entertainment helps keep him distracted from his work, but he doesn’t get lost in them like he usually would either. He’s got a task at hand.

Getting up, he gathers his trash and heads over to Chris's table. The guy gets the clue of the wrappers and hands Quinn the brown bag. He tosses all his wrappers in it and walls to toss it out. Come back, Quinn types out a text to Chris.

Chris

You leaving any time soon.

**Nope.**

Aren’t you tired?

**Got a nap from 5-8:30 in the grad student office.**

Sounds killer.

**Let me guess you’ve been up since like 9.**

Nah 11. My first class got canceled.

**You worked.**

Yeah.

**Go home.**

Can’t. I’m 75% through my campaign.

Class is at 9 am.

**Just let me know if you need any help.**

Actually, I need pictures for my class.

**Alright, let’s do this.**

Quinn grabs the black hardback notebook from his backpack. Chris is already next to his table when he looks up, the older man smiles at him. The older man looks around a little before leaning into his ear to whispering, “Let’s go down a floor.” Quinn tries to ignore the way the words a burst of heat through his body.

Nodding, they walk in silence until they reach the stairs. “Thanks for this,” Quinn says.

"It’s no problem.” Chris smiles, “What’s the project on anyways?”

“An ad campaign for a company that sells notebooks.” Quinn watches every step he takes down, “It’s fictional we had to make everything up from scratch.”

“That’s cool.”

“Not when you forget 15 hours before the due date.”

“Yeah, that sounds horrible,” Chris says as Quinn leads him down a row of bookshelves.

Quinn tries his best to direct Chris to pose with the notebook, but it’s just not working. All the pictures look corny as hell. The imagery he was going for was those dark academia aesthetic library’s and the university’s library is too modern for that. The main floors are painted happy vibrate colors to keep morale up, but Quinn pretty sure no one’s morale is currently up.

“We can head down to the graduate library,” Chris suggests.

“Will I even be able to get down there?”

Chris shrugs, “I mean, we only need my ID to get in, so we should be fine.”

“Fuck it, alright,” Quinn smiles. If they can’t get in, it won’t be a loss. They’ll just have to try somewhere else.

Chris leads them to the elevator, where the man scans his ID and hits the basement button. Quinn has never had to the pleasure of going to the graduate library, but he’s heard enough from Brock that it’s kind of dead. Most of the graduate students rather work in their offices or at home instead of the cold basement.

Quinn looks up at Chris as the elevator starts to move, “Do you not like the grad library?”

“What?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

“My buddy, he’s a grad student here, and he doesn’t like the grad library. He says it gets too stuffy to enjoy it.”

“It’s not too bad. Like if the main floors get busy, I’ll head down here, but I’d rather know when the sun rises by looking outside.” Chris gives a little laugh.

The doors of the elevator open to let in soft yellow lights. The light gives way to the main study area; it's scattered with dark stained wood tables and chairs with cushioned seats and matching side tables littered around them. The creamy colored walls contrast with the dark wooden bookcases as they lead back in narrow rows. God, does he wish this could be the regular library.

Chris nudges him out. Looking around, he only notices one student. They have a table covered with papers and coffee cups. Currently, it looks like they’re asleep, so it gives him a little bit of freedom with what he wants from Chris.

It really helps that Chris fits the aesthetic he’s going for. Bless him for dressing up on the days he teaches. He’s got these earthy brown tones pants, they aren’t quite slacks, but they are fitted and dressy. His off-white button-up is rolled up to his elbows that show off his forearms. Then their Chris’ brown loafers and long tan coat. The guy is dressed perfectly.

Quinn spots a cushioned chair near a row of bookshelves that he thinks would look good in a picture, “There.” He points.

“Yes, sir.” Chris smirks, “Whatever you say.”

Quinn shakes his head as Chris walks over. Taking a seat, Chris moves around in the chair for a little bit while Quinn tries to figure out the shot he’s going for. That shot is Chris casually pretending to write in the notebook; it captures enough of the narrow spaces between the bookshelves to give the photo some depth. The next one Quinn gets a picture of Chris a little closer in the chair, it’s a little shallow, but it’s more focusing on Chris’ hands holding the notebook.

The next two are the hardest ones. He tries to pose Chris with the bookcases like he’s studying a book while taking notes. He manages to get one good one, but he needs to get another for the sake of the assignment. Quinn’s not quite sure what to do for the other four photos. It’s not like he’s going to eight different photos, but just two variants of four shots. He thinks it’s a better approach than eight different shots.

Looking around, Quinn thinks about asking Chris to put on his coat since he’s gone without it for the first four pictures. But the older man just holds out the coat, “I’ll take some pictures of you.”

“Nope,” He’s not about to be a part of that. He thought about it before getting Chris help, but considering he’s in busted black and white Old Skool Vans that have some type of compost on them, and ratty yellows sweatshirt, he’s not about to play model. He’s not in the condition either. At least Chris makes tired look hot. “I look like shit.”

“Take the coat. Cover you’re stained sweatshirt, and no one will ever know.” 

“But I look like shit,” Quinn whines.

His friend holds out the tan coat, “Just take it.”

Grabbing it, Quinn shrugs it on. The thick material is soft on his fingers as he smooths the front out. It blankets most of his body, from where the sleeves cover his hands and bottom brushes below his kneecaps. It’s nice, though, warm and smelling like Chris.

Quinn grabs his phone out of his pocket and opens his camera. Jesus, he looks like shit. His hair is fucked up from where he’d been tugging at it, and the circles under his eyes are far too pronounced. He looks like shit. “Can’t I just take pictures of you?” Quinn looks over at Chris.

Chris rolls his eyes before approaching him. The man takes Quinn’s phone out of his hand and slides it into his own pocket. “Do I have to do everything for you?” Chris mumbles like Quinn can’t hear him.

The man lifts Quinn’s chin with one hand, and with the other, he combs his fingers through his hair. The touch is soft as Chris detangles the mop that was stuffed under his hood. Looking up, Chris looks so concentrated on fixing his hair. He’s tugging at the knots with more focus than he’s seen the guy exhibit all night.

The hand in his hair stills and pulls away. Chris is looking down, catching Quinn staring at him. He never moves his hand, though, the one holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger. So, Quinn's gaze is forced right into Chris’s eyes.

The brown irises seem almost golden under the yellow light. They soften, giving contrast to the sleep circled eyes. The gold sticks out between the purple, wreaking havoc on the creamy skin of Chris's face. It’s almost breathtaking. Almost.

Not sure of what to do, Quinn asks quietly, “Do I look fine?”

The man’s voice small, only a whisper in the empty room, “You look great.”

Their faces so close. When Chris breathes, he can feel it between them. He can feel the heat of the man’s body on him. Their so close that if Quinn were to take even a step closer, their lips would meet.

It’s a promising thought , if Quinn says so himself. He hasn’t been able to get Chris off his mind since they started talking more. The man has been texting him almost every day since Quinn got his number several weeks back. He’ll send the man memes, and Chris asks him about his day. It’s really nice to know that Chris seems to care about him. Now this gives him hope for something he hasn’t hoped for in a long time. 

Chris drops his hand quickly and steps away. The action surprised Quinn enough to jump back himself. The man before him pulls Quinn’s phone out, “So those pictures.”

“Yeah yeah,” Quinn scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll just lean against these bookshelves, and you can get a couple of pictures.”

And they do just that. Chris directs him to move a few times, but they just gather the photos quickly. Soon enough, Quinn is slipping off the warm coat and handing it back to Chris. They don’t linger in the grad library for much longer before returning to their spots several floors above.

It’s just past three-thirty when Quinn opens photoshop. He edits the photos needed for the three ads. He doesn’t bother editing the other five photos since they are just supposed to be ‘promotional pictures.’ It doesn’t take long to gets all the pictures and graphics set in the layout.

All he needs to work on the body copy then back on the closing memo before editing the whole thing. Right about now, he’s not sure if it’s going to be possible to get the extra credit done. It’s fine, though, as long as he gets the campaign done, then everything will be okay. He doesn’t care if it’s not the best quality of work; he’s happy with just meeting the assignment requirements.

Writing and editing the body copy takes longer than it should. It’s fifteen till five when Quinn clicks back over to his final memo. He takes the chance to look outside, and a sliver of daylight begins to show. Yeah, he’s grateful for only have a nine am, and eleven am class cause he’d probably lose his mind if he had to do a full day.

Reading over that, he wrote, Quinn rests his head in his hand. His eyes are heavy with sleep. He’s only got to finish editing before he can scan himself into the union and pass out on one of the couches in the office. Heather probably won’t be very happy with him when he finds out that he scanned himself into the office solely to go to sleep, but he knows she’ll understand why. She’s always telling them to take naps in the office if they need a break while on campus.

The words on the screen are starting to blur together. With the freehand he’s using to scroll through his document Quinn rubs at his eyes. He should probably get up and go splash some water on his face. It’s just he can’t seem to get up. Cause with every waking breath, his eyes begin to grow heavy and closed.

…

The shuffling around him. Stirring slightly, Quinn feels a warmth blanket over him. His mind takes over once again.

…

At first, Quinn thought it was a dream with the soft voice and the even strokes to his hair. The whispering of, “Come on, bud.” To, “You got to wake up.” That’s what brings Quinn to open his eyes. Batting them, he shuts them, squeezing them as he’d been blinded by a beam of brightness.

The hand carding through his hair doesn’t flatter when Quinn buries further into his arms. He knows the hand in his hair and the mouth that lets out a chuckle. Chris is still with him, “Quinn, you got to wake up.” Quinn shakes his head, getting Chris to huff another laugh.

The man doesn’t push against for another moment. He moves the hand from Quinn’s hand to his cheek. His thumb swipes across his skin. “Come on, ba-buddy.” The man stumbles over his words, “You got to wake up.”

Going to open his eyes again. This time the light is blocked by Chris’s face. The man’s hair a mess, but his smile is as perfect as it can be. Quinn still can’t believe the teeth in the toothy smile are fake. Chris has told him earlier in the week that his front teeth are fake as he got them knocked out as a teen. Quinn couldn’t help but think about a toothless smile after he told him.

Chris moves his head, and the ray of light blinds his eyes once’s again. He does his best to not let out a little whine, but by the way, Chris's voice goes soft. He knows he failed, “I know I know, but you got stuff to do.” The man removes his hand from Quinn's cheek, and he’s never longed for warmth like he does now.

Quinn rubs at his eyes for a moment before sitting up. He looks around the sun lite room. There’s a couple of people at one table and two girls at separate ones. One of them even looking his and Chris way. She quickly turns away when she sees Quinn look over at her.

It doesn’t stop Quinn from sitting up and leaning into Chris. It’s not until the fabric that was draped over his shoulder fall a little that he even noticed it was there. It’s Chris's coat. He pulls it back over his shoulder as he looks up at Chris he smiles “I proofread your project,” he says quietly.

It’s just then Quinn realizes why the girl must have been staring at them. It’s the quiet floor. Right now, he doesn’t care. As long as their voices stay at a whisper, they won’t be kicked out, “Thank you.”

The man doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just looks down at Quinn with a soft smile. For a guy that looks as rugged as Chris, he is sure as shit a big softy. The guy is always treating others with this natural softness he has. He can’t imagine what the guy must be like with his students—hell to be the guy's significant other.

He’s shaken out of thought when Chris speaks, “I’m gonna head out.” Quinn just nods, getting the man to stand up. He pulls on his backpack but doesn’t yet walk away. He ruffles Quinn’s hair, “See ya, kid.”

“See ya,” is all Quinn is able to whisper before Chris walks away.

Quinn opens his laptop back up, and true to his word, Chris had proofread it and even left suggestions for improvement. It’s just past seven-thirty. He doesn’t have much time, but Chris's work really helped to brow through the rest of the assignment.

He takes a few of Chris's suggestions, and the others he just rewords to what he was really trying to say. By the time he submits the assignment at eight forty-five, he’s able to walk across campus in the cool spring air with a nice long tan coat and a cup of coffee. He’ll be sure to thank Chris for the coat since he was supposed to dress a little nice for his geography presentation at noon. It might be a little warm by then, but he’ll just have to shove his sweatshirt in his backpack and turn around his work shirt, so the Union’s logo isn’t showing.

Taking a seat in his media writing class, he opens his phone and finds a text from his friend.

Chris

**Text me when you get out of class.**

**I’ll drive you home.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter was published in the middle of my programming class.


	7. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, wooow. 
> 
> This chapter is much shorter than the last, but we needed a break from Quinn's messy life for just a moment. I also had this scene planned for a while, but I didn't know where to put it, so I just put it here on its own. 
> 
> No beta, and I will die on that hill.

What Quinn should be doing is gathering footage for his final video project. What he actually is doing is sitting on Elias and Brock’s couch drinking warm White Claws. He was supposed to be getting clips of Elias walking around his apartment and the complex, but when his friend shows him the guy he’s talking to, all the plans go out the window.

It’s a big deal, though. Elias hardly ever talks to people, let alone date someone, so Quinn isn’t about to miss this. If it was just one of Elias’ occasional hookups, he would have shoved the guy's phone in his pocket and said they could talk about it later, but this is different. This is a date.

His friend is only halfway through showing the guy’s pictures when Brock opens the door. He just rolls his eyes at the mess in the living room before heading to his room and changing. Coming back out, he flops down on the couch next to Elias and wraps an arm around his shoulder. Now that the lanky Swede is thoroughly pressed up against Brock and Quinn, he’s in the perfect position to show them both the guy, Jacob.

“So, what are we looking at?” Brock asks before taking the phone, “Quinner, you talking to someone?”

Elias grabs his phone back, “Actually, I am.”

Brock raises an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

Nodding, “Yeah, seriously.”

Quinn looks over at Brock, “Bro, Petey has got game.”

The older blond looks between the two of them, “The only game he’s got is with his right hand.” Elias shoves an elbow into Brock’s side, “Fuck you. You know I’m right.”

“Well, Jacob and I have a date on Friday.” Elias looks so proud to tell them that.

Quinn doesn’t even know the last time he was even asked out or asked someone out. He honestly doesn’t know if Elias has asked anyone out in all the time they’ve known each other. Yeah, sure, he knows Elias fucks around on Tinder and goes to hookup but being asked out on a date is different. It’s not the small talk and awkward exchanges leading up to casual sex.

Brock snatches Elias's phone out of his hand again and begins to scroll through the guy's profile, “You seriously have a date with this guy?”

Elias looks down at his hands, “Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” Brock huffs.

“I mean, I’ve been kind of seeing him for a while,” Wait what, “We’ve hooked up a couple times.” Alright, atta boy.

Brock shakes his head, “Bro, I can’t believe you.” He shoves the phone in Quinn’s hand, “Read this Q.”

“Don’t,” Elias snatches back his phone, “don’t read my messages, asshole.”

“Fine, I’ll give you the summary,” Brock looks pointedly at Quinn, “And you can’t stop me.” He looks over at Elias, “The guy is a dick.”

“No, he’s not,” Elias shouts, “He’s nice.”

“Oh, I’ve got a paid internship this summer at my dad’s law firm,” Brock raises his voice a couple pitches higher, “I’m going to be paid twenty dollars an hour. Oh, you’re not getting paid, well that sucks.”

Elias glares at Brock, “He did not say that.” Brock glares right back at him, “Okay, fine, maybe he did.”

So, the guy is a tool, great. Just what Elias needs is another stupidly attractive blond tool. It’s like he's collecting them at this point.

“So why go out with him?” Brock asks.

“Cause he asked me,” Elias shouts at him.

“I don’t think you should,” Brock shouts back.

Elias quickly stands up, “Fuck you.” He walks away towards his room and slams the door behind him.

Quinn socks brock in the arm. “Ow, that was that for?” Brock rubs at his bicep.

“I just lost my actor asshole,” Quinn shouts. He knows he could get Elias to do it, but Brock would have to leave the apartment for that.

“That’s not my fault.”

“How is it not your fault?”

Brock looks at him for a long moment, “Okay, maybe it is my fault.” His friend sighs, “It’s just…” Brock trails off.

“Just what?”

The guy takes a deep breath, “Petey deserves better than some fucking tool who talks down to him.”

Quinn should be madder at Brock, but how can he. Elias does deserve better. He might not have read the messages, but if it’s anything like Elias's recent track record, then Brock’s probably right. Their Swedish friend has a type, and sadly even if Brock can be a tool, he’s the best guy out of all of them.

It pains Quinn to say it, but it needs to be said, “Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re not his boyfriend.”

“I know I’m not,” Brock throws his head back, “but I still think he deserves better.”

“And I’m going to agree with you, but you being a jealous dick doesn’t always communicate that effectively.”

His friend’s face turns sour, “I’m not jealous.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

Quinn signs, he has to fight back the childish urge to say, are too, so he settles on, “Brock, you are jealous. You get this way for every guy Petey brings around.”

“Yeah, but that’s because they are just using him for sex.”

God, he really doesn’t have time for this, “Bro, and what do you think he’s using them for.” Brock brings a throw pillow to his face and groans. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you need to figure something out because you can’t keep getting jealous about someone you aren’t even into.”

“I’m not jealous, though.” The blond lowers the pillow, “It’s just I want him to be treated well. I want someone to care for him and love him like I do. You know. He’s really important to me, and I don’t want someone who doesn’t have his best interest in mind to hurt him.”

“Tell me this then,” Quinn pauses to get Brock’s attention, “who has his best interest in mind. The guy actively pursuing him or you, the jealous best friend. Cause from where I’m sitting, you’re doing a whole lot of nothing if you’ve got his best interest in mind.”

Brock looks over at him. He actually looks pitiful, “Q, I just don’t want to see his heart get broken again. Like all the times it’s just been casual sex, he still gets heartbroken. I hate seeing how hurt he gets. It makes me wish…” Brock himself off.

“Makes you wish what?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“It’s got to be something.”

Brock doesn’t respond, though. He just pulls the pillow back over his face and groans. What he’d give to just throw Brock into Elias’ room and lock them in. Maybe that would work. It probably wouldn’t, though. They’d probably just not anything to each other but still end up curled together in Elias’ bed watching Gossip Girl.

But if he could scream in Brock's face and tell him that his feelings for his best friend aren’t exactly all that friendly, he also would do that, but this has to be a delicate conversation, “Boes listen.” He can’t believe he’s really about to say this, “You need to figure out whatever it is that you’re feeling because it sounds a whole lot like you’ve got feeling for Elias.”

It’s muffled by the pillow, but it doesn’t matter because what Brock says is loud and clear, “Fuck me. You might be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, ugh, if anyone knows the TikTok audio, "I think I fucked up my soup," cause I think I fucked up my plot. 
> 
> I had this whole thing planned out for a long time, but the more I write, the more I want to change things. Like, I've already got most of the next chapter written, and honestly, the next chapter will probably be the most important chapter, at least for the sake of the plot. But the more I look at it, the more I want to change it. I don't know, though. 
> 
> Like do I want to alter the plot a little bit (actually a lot) to give Quinn happiness cause originally, this fic was known between my friend and me as the 'sad Quinn fic' and the 'Quinn doesn't know the definition of happiness.'
> 
> Y'all I don't know. I'll think about it though.


	8. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta and will die like that.

When Brady texted him that he’d be out of town for about a month and a half, Quinn honestly thought he’d cry. Like he knows he could have gone without his weed or even asked Brock to go to a dispensary for him, but what he didn’t expect was to be sitting in a frat house on a Sunday afternoon. He never thought he’d be sitting on a crusty futon at Lambda Chi, but here he is.

Brady told him Josh sells, so he hit up the guy on Friday cause after finals, he really needed some. Well, the guy didn’t get back to him for a whole day, which Quinn was okay with. Everyone just needs a break after the hell week. So, Josh told him to swing by in the afternoon since, in the morning, most of his brothers were moving out for the summer. He had completely forgotten that people actually go home to their families during summer break. It couldn’t be him.

  
Josh had just sat Quinn on the futon when one of his fraternity brothers came into the room to ask him for help moving some stuff. The guy curses his brother out but went anyway. So now it’s just Quinn alone in a fraternity bedroom.

Quinn not even sure if he could even call it a bedroom. It’s a large living space with several desks, chairs, and futons. Josh had told him five guys share the room with him, which sounds awful. He didn’t think it could get any worse, but Josh explained how they don’t even live in the room. They live in sleeping porches, which are basically a massive room filled with bunk beds.

Josh needs to hurry up, though. He told Carol he’d be there for dinner. He’s probably got some chores to do, so he’s going to need to get out of here. It’s not like he can tell Josh to hurry up either, cause he’d likely get told to fuck off and get his weed from somewhere else. Well, at least he won’t have to worry about a bus ride anymore.

He finally managed to save up enough money to get his car fixed or at least temporarily. The mechanic said that the car will run, but he’s not sure for how long. He also said he might as well get a new car cause his 97 Honda Civic is basically falling apart. That’s not an option though, sure he just dropped five hundred on fixing his car, but he’s also going to be working a lot over the summer to make up for the financial loss.

Josh returns with sweat running down his face, “It’s hot as ball outside.” He wipes at his forehead.

“It’s only going to get hotter.”

The guy smirks gives Quinn an up and down, “It already did.”

Ugh, ugh what. Quinn doesn’t even try to say anything. The way Josh said it was so casual. Like he couldn’t have been talking about him, right. There’s no way. Josh just screams straight frat bro energy. So, he just leaves it alone.

Josh starts to dig around in his desk drawers until he pulls out a sandwich bag full of bud. It’s defiantly a lot more than Brady would give him, but it also means it’s more expensive. Right now, he’s got seventy-five bucks to his name and was only willing to spend twenty-five of it on weed.

The guy tosses the bag of buds into his lap, “That will be fifty bucks.”

Yeah, no, “Ugh, you think you could take some out cause I’ve only got twenty-five bucks.”

Josh shakes his head with a laugh before taking a seat on the futon. He rests a hand on Quinn’s thigh and thumbs gently at the inner seam of his jeans. The guy’s gaze is moving between Quinn’s eyes and what he thinks is his lip. Well, shit, maybe, he was wrong about Josh.

“I could discount the cost if you can think of a better form of payment.” Gross, why does he sound like a bad porn. Josh is leaning in close. His face only inches from Quinn. He brings a free hand to cup his face, “How much of a discount do you think you’ll get?”

Ugh, even grosser, but Quinn can’t say he’s above this. He’s made out with random people at parties for bong hits, so this is nothing. So, he leans in to meet Josh’s lips.

They’re warm, chapped, and aggressive against his. The man doesn’t let up as he forces his way into Quinn’s mouth. It hot, and it's exactly what Quinn wants; a man to take what he wants.

Josh’s hands are directing him where he wants him. Laying him down on the futon, Josh pulls back to look down at him. Quinn knows he must look like a mess, but as Josh straddled his thighs and pressed his thumb to the bottom of his lip, all care goes out the window. The guy is looking at him the way he’s been craving to be looked at for months now.

He dreamt of it. Being held down and taken apart. Being taken care of right after. Being loved by the man in his dreams. The man is not Josh, not even close, but in this moment, if it’s all he can have, then it’s what he’ll take.

“You’re weirdly cute like this,” Josh says with his thumb still pressed to Quinn's lips. It’s not trying to press further into his mouth, just resting there, “Like you’re not the hottest person, but like you’re cute.”

What Quinn wants to do now is tell Josh to go fuck himself, but what he gets is Josh hovering above him. He wraps Quinn’s legs around his waist and lowers himself onto his forearms. His lips press against his. The kiss is just as hungry as it was before.

Josh is fighting his way into Quinn’s mouth. His tongue licks in, looking for control. And Quinn isn’t about to fight him for it. If anything, this is more for Josh than him. He would have just settled on the guy taking the buds out of the bag, but this isn’t to bad either.

While this is fun and all, he can’t get Brady’s words out of his brain. How he needs to be careful around this guy. He’s not sure what Brady meant, but now he’s got Josh on top of him as he gropes his ass. Yeah, this isn’t what his friend meant by being careful.

Josh pulls back and drags a hand down Quinn's chest towards the button of his jeans. Well, shit, he’s not sure about this anymore. Making out for weed and fucking for weed are two different things. There’s a line that he’s not sure if he’s willing to cross expectedly when Josh is just well, Josh.

If this happen a couple months ago he’d been down for this, but now he’s over casual and one-night stands. He’s done that for far too long. Never having anything last longer than a few months of just sex. He wants something real, and the Lambda Chi social chair doesn’t seem like the poster boy from monogamy.

So as Josh pops the button of his pants, he shoves him back, “I’ve actually got somewhere to be.”

“Really,” Josh smirks, pulling down his zipper, “We were just getting to the fun stuff.”

“Yeah, I do actually have somewhere to be.” Quinn scoots back from Josh then stands up. He does his pants back up.

“Well, just Venmo me thirty then.” Josh says, “And if you decided you’d rather be here later. Just shot me a text.”

Quinn has to fight off the need to roll his eyes, “Yeah, of course.”

“See ya,” Josh points to the door, “Just follow a brother out.”

What a fucking dick.

…

Quinn can hear the power tools from down the hall. It sounds like a drill, but Quinn has never been all that handy, so he could be wrong. As he gets closer to Carol’s apartment, it gets louder. It’s probably wrong of him, but he laughs at the thought of the woman using a power tool.

Knocking on the door, Carol opens it right away. “Come in.”

Quinn takes a look around the apartment, no one with power tools in sight, but they are definitely in the home. It’s loud, like really loud. He can’t imagine how their neighbors feel. The thin walls always give away to ungodly sounds.

She must notice his confusion because she says, “Oh, Chris is just putting up a bookshelf for me.”

Ah, makes sense, “Okay.”

“I made fudge.” She gestures to the plate of treats on her coffee table.

“So, what chores do you got for me?” Quinn asks.

The woman offers him a soft smile while she takes a seat on the couch, “None.”

“What.” She always has something for him to do. Usually, it’s helping her take out the trash or just move heavy objects in general, but she’s always got something for him.

“Chris did them already.” That asshole.

“But those are my…”

Carol cuts him off, “Honey sit down.” He does as she asks. She holds the plate of fudge out for him, and he takes a few pieces. The woman knows how to shut him up. Putting it back down, she continues, “Chris has been here working on stuff around the house since about ten. I asked him a while back if he’d take a look at the silverware drawer because it wasn’t opening right. So, he took it upon himself to look over the place.”

Of course, he did. “But…”

“Don’t talk with a mouth full.” She smacks lightly at the back of his head, “Christopher is a nice man who wanted to give you a break from cleaning.” Oh. Well, that’s ugh kind of him, “Now, when you are finished with your fudge, you are to thank him.”

With his mouth still full of the sweet treat, he says, “Yes, mother.”

“If I was your mother,” she stops for a second the shake her head, “I’d...,” she signs and takes a deep breath, “actually never mind. I better just keep my mouth shut.”

It’s probably for the best that she doesn’t finish the sentence. He knows how Carol feels about his parents. She’d voiced her option enough that he knows.

Quinn wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “But if I were your mother, you’d definitely have better table manners.”

He can’t help but laugh at that. His mother would have smacked his hands as a child if he did that. She’d probably do it now, given the opportunity.

Getting up, he heads down the small hallway towards the bedroom. Leaning against the open doorway, he watches as Chris carefully looks at a package of screws. It’s not fair; the guy looks hot. He’s sweaty; the grey t-shirt he’s wearing tells Quinn enough. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

The t-shirt gives a great view of his body. It looks like the material is fighting to not bust around the swell of the muscle. The thin cotton stretches over his toned chest, and don’t even get him started on the way it hugs his biceps. If he could send a thank you letter to the t-shirt company he would.

The man looks up to catch Quinn staring. He’s got a smug little smile on his face, “You come to help?”

Quinn remains in the doorway cause if he walks any closer, he’s not sure what he’d do. The drive did nothing to get rid of the itch under his skin caused by Josh. “Just came to thank you.”

Chris stands up with a few screws in his hand, “For?”

“Helping Carol today.”

He nods, “It’s no problem.”

“I know but thank you anyways.”

“You needed a break.” Chris doesn’t allow him to even get a word in before he starts drilling into the bookshelf. It’s only for a moment, though, before the drill stops. Quinn opens his mouth, but Chris speaks first, “You were so tired.”

“I wasn’t that tired.” It’s a lie and they both know it.

On top of finals, he’d started working for the movers/dorm clean up crew.They needed more help, so they reached out to Heather and asked if anyone would like some additional hours. He wasn’t about to turn that opportunity down.

Chris lines up to drill another screw in, “I came over, and you fell asleep on me.”

“Okay yeah, but…” Chris cuts him off with the sound of drilling.

This asshole. Yeah, Quinn may have had him over for pizza, and a movie on Friday, then processed to fall asleep on the guy, but it’s not all his fault. Chris had wrapped an arm around him and held him close. So how could he not just fall asleep in the arms of the man he’s been crushing on.

The drill stops, “You were cuddling me.”

“Hey, fuck you,” This man has no room to talk, “I woke up, and you were also asleep.”.

“Yeah, cause I was tired.”

“Tired enough to cuddle me back.”

The man’s eyes narrow, and he walks closer to Quinn, “If I’m not mistaken, you fell asleep on top of me.”

Yeah, he did, and it was some of the best sleep Quinn has ever had. The man had held him all night. His hold was tight, Chris's hands were fisted together around his back to hold him in place. When he woke up, he couldn’t get out of Chris's hold, so he just laid there listening to the man’s heartbeat.

“So, what if I did,” Quinn shouts.

From the living room, Carol shouts, “Boy’s play nice.”

Chris smirks at him, “Yeah, play nice.”

“Fuck you.”

Chris just shakes his head. “Kid, what you worked like forty hours this week on top of finals.”

Quinn narrows his glace, “Thirty-eight actually.”

“Same shit,” Chris groans, “You were tired.”

“I shouldn’t be, though,” Quinn gestures around the room, “You’re here doing this, and you worked.”

Chris sighs, “It’s different, though.”

“How is it different?” He’d really like to know cause this man worked all week. He must be exhausted, but yet he’s here.

“I don’t leave my apartment at seven am and come home at ten pm.” Okay, fine fair point, “My job isn’t manual labor.” Chris walks even closer to him, “You were moving shit out of dorms, then going to a final and then going to clean the union. That’s not easy stuff.”

Quinn crosses his arms over his chest, “I only had one exam. The rest projects.”

“Which is arguably worse.” Chris runs a hand through his hair, “You had projects. Big projects. Between work and finals, you hardly had time to sleep.”

“It’s fine. Finals are over.”

The man shakes his head, “And you’re going to start doing what. Working all day on top of summer classes.”

“They are all e-campus.”

“Still,” Chris groans.

Quinn gives a little shrug, “I’m only working that job for a couple months or until they don’t need me anymore.”

Chris is now thoroughly in his space. He places a hand on his shoulder, “Just take care of yourself, okay.”

Just to be a little bit of a shit, Quinn cranes his neck to looks up at Chris, right in his eyes. Quinn gives him his ‘ten out of ten would recommend blow job review’ eyes. He tries to pair it with a sweet smile before says, “But that’s what I have you for.”

He watches the man swallow around something that isn’t there. He lets the hand on Quinn’s shoulder trail down his arm until it reaches his hand. Chris's hand cups his, “That’s exactly what you have me for,” and with a light squeeze, he lets go.

Quinn's mouth goes dry, and Chris steps away with a wicked smile and goes to pick up the drill. He goes back to work for a while. Quinn just watches him. Admiring what he’s doing. The way his back flexes with every stretch. The thick muscle moves with him, and Quinn can’t look away.

It’s not until Carol calls them for dinner that he stops watching Chris. Quinn waits until he puts everything down for him to say, “Thank you,” Chris cocks his head a little, “for everything. I mean it.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Chris smiles wide before it fails quickly, “Just helping a friend out, right.”

Quinn’s smile drops, “Yeah, helping a friend.” Those words feel so foreign in his mouth, but yet so familiar.

Walking back down the hall, Quinn feels the urge to throw up and cry. But he takes a seat across from Carol and shoves every little bit of meatloaf into his mouth. He’s not sure he even spoke throughout dinner, and if he did, he wouldn’t know what he said. He really doesn’t remember anything about dinner.

What he does remember is texting Josh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be asleep so I can wake up for my opening shift? Yes. Am I going to stay up a little longer and write? Yes.


	9. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewritten this chapter so many times at this point and I think I'm finally happy with the outcome.
> 
> No beta and I will die on that hill.

With Elias doing lab research, Brock working all day, and Chris in Canada, Quinn doesn’t have very many options for social interaction. While he gets some at work, it isn’t the same. His dorm cleaner job leaves him to work independently, so he doesn’t get to talk much. He listens to music, podcasts, and even his video lectures during his six-hour shifts. It gets lonely.

At night, he’s got Ricky to talk to, but now that half the student staff is gone for the summer, he’s been roaming the buildings, so he doesn’t get to chat with his friend for long. He gets to chat with the other staff, but it’s just not the same. Ricky is a good listener. Never judging him for the stupid shit he does. The man just nods and occasionally provided some life advice. So, when he finds himself a little too high while at work and in Ricky’s section, he knows he’s safe.

The high honestly hit him harder than he thought it would. He’d been hanging out with Josh between jobs, and the guy offered him half of his edible. He should have known that it was going to be a horrible high by the way the brownie tasted. It was like he was force-fed a stick of weed butter. It was terrible, and now that the high has settled, he knows that it’s going to be a horrible time.

He’s kept his head down every time someone walks by him, but the anxiety is slowly rising. He’s hoping that Tony or Matt doesn’t come looking for him cause if they do, he’s going to be in some deep shit. Like some real deep shit. Like worse than the time his Juul fell out of his pocket while on shift. It had just been a warning then, and hell, if they found out he’s come to work like this, then he’d most likely lose his job.

He’s sat at one of the tables in front of the café. Ricky is in the ID center next door, so he just waits for the older man to open the doors. If anyone comes by and asks why he’s sitting, then this moment will be his fifteen-minute break.

A door opens, and it’s Ricky. He gives Quinn his usual awkward wave. It matches the man so well. His goofy stance and wide smile is just who Ricky is. He’s got this cheery voice like those grandpas’ have in the stories about happy families.

Standing, Quinn walks to the door of the café. He leans against the wall cause he’s sure if he tried to stand straight, he’d start swaying. He’s starting to feel he needs to ask Josh what was in the brownie because he’s never had an edible feel like this. He’s never been so high that it feels like he’s hallucinating.

It’s just the walls appear to be moving when he stares at them long enough. The art on the walls turns into a mess of colors. His skin doesn’t feel like his own. Thinking about it makes it feel like there are bugs under his skin.

Snapping out of it, Ricky is waving a hand in front of his face. The door of the café is already open, and the cleaning cart is inside. He’s must have been out of it for a while.

Looking up at Ricky, his usual smile drops. He grabs Quinn by the wrist and pulls him in. The older man kicks out a chair from the nearest table and pushes Quinn on to it. “Are you okay?”

Quinn tries his best not to laugh. Cause the thing is, if it didn’t feel like he was losing his fucking mind, then this would be the best high he’s ever had. His brain isn’t running a mile a minute like it does while sober. He’s not thinking about how the world could end tomorrow or how he could be dying, and he doesn’t know it. The world is just slow and clear, and his body is happy.

“Yeah.” Quinn manages, “All good.” He giggles and puts a thumb up.

The older man pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “What did you take?”

Looking up into the man’s eyes. The disappointment so clearly coursing through the man, “Ugh.” He looks around the room, but nothing makes sense, so he looks back into the kind brown eyes, “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice harsh.

Quinn drops his glance to his hands, “Just an edible.”

The man sighs again, “Okay, so you can work.” The guy knows he’s come to work high before. Several times, “But Quinn, it seriously looks like you are on like meth or some shit.”

His mouth is agape, and his eyes are heavy when he looks up, “Well shit.”

“Where did you get it?”

Josh had said he bought it from a friend, so he doesn’t really know. “The guy I’ve been seeing gave me a piece.”

“Did he tell you where he got it?”

“A friend.”

The older man shakes his head, “You got to be careful about that shit.”

“I know.”

“I don’t give a shit if you do drugs. I was in my twenties in the eighties, so I did plenty myself, just,” the man shakes his head, “you just don’t know what they are lacing stuff with.”

Quinn knows he really does. He knows he should be more careful, “I know.”

The man squeezes his shoulder, “Just don’t want to see you dead, is all.”

“I understand.” Quinn smiles, “I’m sorry.”

The man lets go of his shoulder, “It’s okay. Just don’t make a habit of this, or I will be telling Heather and Tony.”

That’s fair, and he knows it. Ricky could go right to his bosses and tell them everything. Tell them about the month he came to work high. It was right after he got back from Winter break early. He was supposed to stay all four weeks, but after just two, Quinn changed his flight and paid an extra fifty dollars just to get out of the house.

For the next month, he was high. He had the money to afford the habit, so he didn’t stop. It made it so much easier to decline his brothers' calls. He stopped feeling guilty about leaving them all alone in the house with their parents. While Jack was able to return to university, Luke couldn’t. He was stuck without his older brother, and it hurt Quinn to think about it.

He cried when the high wore off, and he remembered that Luke was stuck with their mother and father. How they were probably taking it out on him when it was Quinn's fault. It made him sick knowing his little brother was getting yelled at for him being the fuck up, the disappointment, the low life dirty bag that can only commit to drugs and drinks. So, every time the high wore off, he’d light up again and again until he stopped feeling.

Something is poking him, so he finally looks up. Ricky is nudging his shoulder the handle of the mop. “Ask your boy to see what was in that brownie.”

Quinn tilts his head, “My boy.”

Ricky pinches the bridge of his nose, “The guy you’re seeing?”

“Ooohhh.” He nods, “Josh.”

“Yeah, him,” The man groans, “ask, then start being useful and pull the trash.”

“On it.” Quinn smiles and pulls out his phone. 

Josh

Hey, the edible was strong as fuck.

I’m fucking tripping.

Delivered 8:04pm

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and goes off to do his work. He expected to get a text back by the end of his shift, but no. He thought he’d see one when he woke up still feeling high the next morning, but no reply. It’s not until two days later that Josh texts him back. 

Josh

**Yeah, nah that was serious hell**

**My buddy said it was probably crossed with something**

**The guy he got it from does that sometimes**

The brownie was laced.

**Nah just crossed**

Same shit

**Nah.**

**Your fine though**

I don’t care if I’m fine.

It was laced.

I’m not okay with that.

**If it makes you feel better it probably wasn’t anything bad**

**Not like meth or crack**

Probably

sent 4:26 pm

**You want to come over.**

delivered 2:55 am

And after that, it becomes a pattern. Quinn will text him at a reasonable time, and Josh will hit him up at three am. Somedays, he won’t, though. Somedays, Josh will take him out during his lunch break. It mostly leads to mid-day sex and Quinn going back to work hungry.

Sure, it sucks, but Josh seems to like him. He sure as hell gets him. He knows what it’s like to want to feel numb. Josh knows, and he’s the only one in Quinn's life right now that seems to understand.

It’s just his friends don’t always understand him. They don’t understand what it’s like to be him. To worry every day over things that aren’t even there. To not be able to fall asleep at night because he’s thinking about how he could have done better that day. To lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, questioning if he’s enough.

It’s just they don’t get it. He’s tried to explain it before to Elias. His friend had been kind and let him talk, but when they were done, there wasn’t any understanding, only pity. His friend pitied him and said he was sorry. He doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him because his life could be a hell of a lot worse.

He grew up an upper middle class cis white male in the suburbs. His parents had enough money and didn’t have to worry about going hungry. As a child, he never went without. His parents always gave him what they asked for. All things considering, he had a good life.

He could have grown up without parents, they could have neglected him, they even could have disowned, but they haven’t. They loved him unconditionally for most of his life. Looking back, he had it pretty good.

His dad might have been hard on him, but most hockey dads are. He was pushed to be the best from the moment he first put on skates. His dad had these dreams for him, and it was Quinn’s job to fulfill them. He had his life all planned out after being put in front of a defense coach. He was told he was going to be a star, and up until three years ago, he was on that track.

Yeah, so things might have sucked, but they could have been so much worse.

…

He’s not really sure of what to make of Elias’ head in Brock's lap, but the one thing he does know is that he wants to get the hell out of the apartment. Elias had invited him over to have some drinks and just hang out. It was going fine up until the alcohol set in, and Brock came home.

Their friend took one look at Elias and plopped down on the couch. Brock manhandled Elias to lay his head in his lap. It’s sickening to even look at them because he knows the older blond hasn’t done anything about his crush on the Swede. Elias told him as much while tipsy.

After Quinn’s conversation with Brock weeks ago, he’d been touchier with Elias. Apparently, about a week ago, Brock was leaned so close to Elias that he thought Brock was going to kiss him. The sigh that Elias lets out after telling the story is enough for him to know that his friend is getting fed up with Brock. Quinn doesn’t blame him in the slightest.

As Brock strokes a hand through Elias’ hair, Quinn takes the time to type out a text to Josh. The guy hasn’t messaged him in about a week now. Quinn’s tied to give him some space, but at this point, he’s drunk, bored, and frankly a little horny. So, he texts him.

Josh

You want to hang out.

I’m drunk, so you’d have to get me.

Sent 9:21

A throw pillow hits his hands, dropping his phone. Looking over at his friend, he knows it’s Elias by his shit eating grin. “So, who you texting?” His friend asks.

“No one.” Quinn takes the pillow and throws it back. Brock snatches it before it can hit Elias, “No fair.”

“You had to be texting someone.” Elias rolls onto his back to look up at Brock, “Boes, he was smiling.”

Brock pushes back the hair that has fallen into Elias’ face. Quinn can’t help it, “You two are fucking gross.”

“No, we aren’t,” Elias giggles, “So who you texting?”

“Just a friend,” Quinn explains.

“Chris?” Elias asks.

Sadly no. Now that Chris is back from Canada and back to work, he doesn’t have a lot of time to talk. The poor guy is busier than ever. With the summer classes he teaches only being four weeks long, he’s got a lot to do in a short period of time. Quinn just wishes he could take a break.

“It is Chris, isn’t it,” Elias says, “You only smile like that when it’s Chris.”

Quinn flips him off, “I don’t have a smile for Chris.”

“Yeah, you do,” Brock chimes in.

“Well, it wasn’t Chris,” Quinn glares between the two of them, “it was my friend Josh.”

Elias goes to sit up, but Brock stops him with a hand on his hip, “Josh?”

“Yeah, met him through Brady, and he’s in Lambda.” He’s not really sure what else to tell his friends.

“No.” Brock stares at him. Face unreadable, “Blue eyes, dark hair.”

“Yeah, why?” Quinn asks, but the blond looks pained, “He’s chill; we’ve hung out a few times.”

“Quinn stop seeing him,” Brock shouts.

Okay, what the fuck, “I’m not seeing him. We hung and hooked up a few times.”

“Stop,” Brock makes a pointed look, “Don’t fuck around with Josh.”

Okay, this is fucking weird; how does Brock know Josh, “But why?”

Brock pushes Elias to sit up. Their Swedish friend rolls his eyes before plops back on the opposite side armrest. Brock stands, “Do I need a reason.”

“You’re not my fucking keeper!”

Brock starts pacing, “Josh is bad news.”

“How do you even know him?”

Brock stops to stare at Quinn, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it fucking does!”

Elias sits up on his knees. He’s looking between the two of them, “Both of you, stop it.”

“All that matters is that he’s bad fucking news.” Brock ignores the Swede, “I don’t want to see you get wrapped up in something you can’t get out of.”

“Like.”

“Just Josh isn’t a good guy.” Brock sighs, “He’s ruined lives.”

Brock doesn’t know shit. Josh is a good guy. He might be kind of an inconsistent asshole, but he’s good. Maybe not in the most traditional sense of good, but nevertheless, Quinn knows Josh is not a bad guy, “I don’t believe you.”

Brock throughs his head back with a laugh, “But you’re going to believe Josh,” The blond shakes his head with a quieter laugh, “Well, I can’t help you when you get fucked over with a drug charge.”

“Fuck you!” Quinn spits.

Brock is walking closer to Quinn’s seat. Elias steps in front of Brock before he can do something stupid. While he doesn’t think Brock would hit him, he’s not totally sure about that right now. He’s never seen his friend this angry before.

Elias got a hand rested on Brock’s chest while he looks over at Quinn, “Both of you stop.”

Brock tries to fight his way around Elias, but he can’t, so he says, “I’m just trying to warn Quinn about what he’s getting into.”

“Josh is nice to me.” Quinn wants to fight Brock. Why can’t his friend just let him be happy this one time, “I really like him.”

“He’s not going to date you,” Brock shouts over Elias's shoulder. It feels like daggers to his chest.

“Brock, stop it,” Elias begs, “please.”

“No,” He shoves Elias aside for a moment before the Swede grabs his arm, “Josh is a dick that doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” Elias is trying to drag him away, but Brock’s fighting it, “And anyone who is around him always ends up taking the fall for him.”

Quinn finally stands from his spot, “You’re an asshole.”

Brock is being dragged into the kitchen by Elias. It doesn’t stop him from yelling, “Who are you going to trust your friend or the guy that is selling you drugs.”

“He understands me!”

“Don’t come crying to me when you get your heart broken.” Brock's words twist the daggers in his chest.

Elias now thoroughly got both arms pinned behind his back, “Brock fucking chill.” Brock continues to fight, “Calm down.”

“He just needs to know.” Brock struggles.

Quinn narrows his eyes and makes direct contact with Brock. They make be several feet away from each other, but he can still catch their hold, “Maybe you should worry about yourself before me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Brock screams.

“Both of you quit it,” Elias shouts.

Quinn says as calmly as he can, “Just that you seem to get into situations that don’t involve you.”

“Like,” Brock spits.

Smirking, Quinn looks up at his Swedish friend, “Elias, how’s Jacob?”

Brock's eyes twitch, and he starts to thrash around in Elias's hold. He’s trying so hard to break the hold but can’t manage, “Fuck you. I hope Josh is everything I said he was.”

“I’m leaving,” Quinn shouts as he races for the door, “Elias text me,” He looks over at his friends, “Brock die.”

He slips out the door, not even bothering to stop and put on his shoes. So, he’s walking in his socks on the pavement in the rain. He could take a seat on the curb and put on his shoes, but he wants to get as far away from the apartment as possible.

Looking up at the sky, he wishes he could see the stars. He’d be looking for his star. The one that would guide him home or at least to the nearest 7/11. He wouldn’t be so alone on the walk home.

The billions of stars would be there for him. Watching out of him as he makes it across town. He’d know he was safe cause the stars are always there. Even when the clouds are grey and low, they are still there. Just waiting for their moment to shine.

It’s when he steps in a puddle that Quinn decided it’s time to find his way home. So, he sits in the middle of the wet sideway and tugged on his shoes. He pulls out his phone to find the nearest night owl bus stop. It’s all the way by campus, so about a thirty-minute walk from his current location. Great.

So, he opens his messaging app and sends a text off to Josh. The guy hasn’t responded to his text, and it’s been over an hour since then. He waits and waits and waits. He’s been sat in the middle of the sideway for going on thirty minutes. Josh isn’t going to text him again for the millionth time this week.

Getting up, he opens his phone once again and hits the most recent caller. The phone rings for a moment before the rough voice picks up on the other end, “Hey, kid. It’s late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you do drugs test them, please. You never know what people put in them. 
> 
> Don't know if I'll be able to update before Friday. I've got a lot to do this week. Maybe I'll procrastinate and update like I am doing right now. It's just between work and school, I don't have much time this week. Hope y'all enjoyed it. 
> 
> Any guess as to what will happen next.


	10. July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter chapter, but the ones to come are going to a bit longer.
> 
> No beta and i will die on that hill

The July air is thick. The humidity leaves the evening warm. Even after the sun has set and the stars shine bright, the heat stays. It hangs low over the Fourth of July activities that the property company puts on to mask how shitty the complex actually is. Every major holiday means some contest to win several gift cards; Quinn never enters cause why would he when the same people won't even come when he puts in a maintenance request. It's beside the point, really. 

Quinn is sitting on the grass in front of their complex with Chris beside him. Carol is seated in a chair on the payment with others. Half the complex litters the area facing the street. Several streets in front of them, the local high school is letting off fireworks. It’s been delay about an hour or so; one of the people in the crowd told them so.

He’s been hanging out with Chris and Carol since Brock and Elias went to the beach. He’d rather be anywhere than with Brock, so he decided to spend the day with his older friends. It’s not all that ideal, he can’t get hammered while the sun sets and fireworks are set off, but Chris hands him a beer anyways.

He’s been nursing the same one for a while now, and it’s grown warm. Not really in the mood to finish it or even continue drinking, he pours it out in the grass.

Chris looks over at him, “You know you could have invited that guy you are talking to?”

“Could of, but nah,” Quinn says.

“Why?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

Quinn sighs, “I just don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

He had told Chris about Josh when he came to pick him up those couple weeks back. He explained how Brock was mad at him for even talking to the guy, and he didn’t understand why. All Chris told him was that maybe he should consider what Brock was saying, so he just decided to remain silent for the rest of the ride. In hindsight, it was a dick move as Chris had driven to get him, but he didn’t want to hear the same shit over again. Especially when he hasn’t heard from Josh since before that night.

“Why? Is he not going to stick around much longer?”

Quinn shrugs, “Not really sure.”

“What happened?” His face is soft when Quinn looks over.

If he can’t talk about it with Elias cause of Brock, he might as well talk about it with Chris, “It’ just he’s so hot and cold with me.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “There was like a week when he was hitting me up then radio silence for almost a month.”

“Quinn,” Chris sighs.

“I think he’s ghosted me.” Quinn picks at the grass under his hands, “Not shocked, though.” 

Chris nudges him getting him to look up, “You deserve better.”

He shrugs again, because does he really. From where he’s sitting, he’s kind of a garbage person, but he knows better than to fight the words, “He’s the first guy that’s really given me this type of attention in a long time.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“My eight month long dry spell says otherwise.” Quinn scratches the back of his neck.

“Quinn, I know…” Chris cuts himself off as Quinn’s phone that is sat between them lights up with an incoming call. It’s his mother. Quinn just turns it over, “You not going to get that?”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“It might be important,” Chris suggests.

Quinn glares up at his friend, “Ugh, I’m not sure.”

“Just answer.” Chris picks up his phone and shoves it into his hands.

“Fine.” Chris is about to get up, but Quinn grabs his hand, “Please, don’t go.” The guy doesn’t say anything, just nods. Pulling the phone to his ear, “Hey, mom.”

“Quinn.” His mom sounds so cheerful on the other end.

“Isn’t it late for you?” Considering it’s approaching nine pm for him.

He can hear his mother take a drink before saying, “Just before midnight.”

“Getting a little late, don’t you think.” Chris nudges him. The man glares at him. Okay, so he wants to get off the phone, but Chris doesn’t know shit about what his family is like.

“Your brothers are still up.” A loud boom comes through the phone; fireworks, “Your dad and I have to entertain them since you aren’t here.”

Quinn rolls his eyes at Chris. The man just smiles, “I’m sure they can entertain themselves. They are big boys.”

“I’m not about to have my other two go off and do drugs because I can’t keep them entrained,” his mother spits.

Okay, where the fuck did that come from, “I never said anything about them doing drugs.”

“Well, that’s your idea of entertainment, isn’t it,” There’s another boom of fireworks, “Drugs.” The word slurred.

Quinn sighs, “Ma, you know what? I think I’m going to let you go. Your drunk.”

“I’m not a drunk!”

He wants to toss his phone into the street but opts for, “I never said you were a drunk.”

It takes a moment for his mother to respond as there is some shuffling on her end, “I may be a drunk, but at least I did throw away my life for drugs.”

He pulls his phone back and takes a deep breath. Looking up at Chris, the man gives him a weak smile. If Chris wasn’t next to him, he’d probably just click of the call and turn it off, “Mom, did you call to fight or what?”

“You’re the one that’s looking for a fight!” She shouts.

“I’m not,” he groans.

“I just called to see what you are doing?”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m hanging out with some people from the complex.”

“No Brock or Elias.”

“No, they went to the beach.”

His mother laughs, “They finally ditch you.”

“No.” He really hates Chris right now, “I’m hanging out with Chris, though.”

“The old man,” his mother huffs.

“He’s not old.” He looks up at Chris, who’s got an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t have a problem with you being gay, but…”

Nope, not today. He’s not having this conversation today. “No.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hear whatever you are going to say!” It’s loud enough to get looks from those near him. Even thousands of miles away, his mom can still cause a scene.

“You don’t want to hear the truth.”

Quinn leans in a little closer to Chris, who in turn wraps an arm around his shoulder. He takes the touch and relaxes into it. He sighs into the phone before saying, “Well, considering you started that statement off with a lie.”

“Quintin.” He knows his mom is about to go off on some tangent when she uses his full name, “These men…”

Maybe not, though. There’s some commotion in the background. It sounds like his brothers yelling. The closer they get, the clear the sounds of them telling their mother to go to bed is. He’ll have to text them thank you later.

“Ma go to bed,” Quinn says.

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

He doesn’t want to fight anymore, “You are drunk. Give Jack the phone and go to bed.” His mother mumbles something that he can’t make out, “Good night.”

He clicks to end the call and grips his phone tight. Bring his knees to his chest, he rests his chin on his kneecaps. When a tear escapes, he doesn’t bother to wipe it away. He doesn’t have enough energy in him.

Chris takes his phone out of his hand, “I’m sorry I made you answer.” His voice is sincere, “I’m really sorry.”

Quinn looks up at him, “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

The man gives him a soft smile and pulls him closer. Quinn moves his head to rest on the man’s shoulder, “I won’t make you answer again,” Chris says.

“It’s okay.”

Chris shakes his head. He brings a hand to Quinn’s cheek and wipes away the few tears that have escaped, “It’s not, and I’ll never make you do it again.”

“Thank you.” And Quinn can’t blame it on the beer he had, but he doesn’t want to blame it on anything right now. He lifts his head just enough to press a kiss to the man’s cheek. In return, Chris tightens his grip. 

He’ll dream of these arms tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, not sure the next time I'm going to update. Work and school suck, but I'll try to get it out soon. 
> 
> Also apparently I can't just work on one thing. I wrote a Quinn and Chris au the other day and now I'm writing a full-blown coffee shop au. Why am I like this. Not sure when this will be uploaded or if, but I'm having fun writing it. It's slightly out of pocket, but I'm enjoying it.


	11. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that there is a playlist for this fic if anyone is interested. I update it every so often.   
>  [Spotify Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37QPtMIheg19S3GIg4Nmk5)

Quinn knows he shouldn’t. He really does. He even texts Elias to tell him not to. But the thing is when someone tells him not to do something, there’s a ninety-five percent chance that he’s going to do it anyway. So when Josh texts him and asks if he wants to go to a kickback, he says yes.

He hadn’t heard from the guy in over a month, and maybe the thought of an explanation is what got him into a pair of shorts, a baseball jersey, and one the bus heading towards the house off of frat row. He wishes Josh didn’t have this effect on him. He wishes he could have taken his friend's advice, but as he gets off the bus and walks down the street, all of Elias's words fly out the window.

Josh hit him up right after the fourth of July while he was at work, and Quinn hadn’t been able to hang out. There was a part of him the was grateful for that, but he still longed to hang out with Josh. The guy had always been a fun time, but after a few days of asking him if he was free and getting radio silence, Quinn figured it was finally over. Well, it wasn’t really anything, to begin with, but it had him think that maybe Brock was right. As sad of a thought as that it.

He texts Josh as he stands outside of a non-descriptive house that’s playing loud EDM remixes of rap music. His friend comes stumbling from the front door and drags him through the house. Taking glances around the house, it seems to be nothing but a sausage fest which Quinn’s fine with, but it’s a little weird considering he only knows Josh.

They make their way to a ratty couch in the backyard. He’s handed a drink full of whatever brightly colored punch is in the container next to them. He considers not drinking, but since most of the guys are sipping away on their cups, it seems okay. Right away, he tastes the alcohol; it burns the back of his throat as it goes down. It’s enough to recognize that he shouldn’t be here, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right about now.

The sun is bright, the music is loud, his drink is cold, and Josh is pressed along his side. The guy might not be paying attention to his as he hammers away at his phone, but it’s nice. The warmth is solid, unmovable like Josh won’t leave.

A man in a backwards hat, polo, and what Quinn’s sure are swim trunks sits next to him. He more shoved his way between the arm of the couch and Quinn. This guy, who introduced himself as Jake, is the personification of a frat bro. He smells vaguely of warm beer, which is off-putting, to say the least.

The guy leans close to him to yell over the music, “So bro, you thinking about rushing?”

Quinn was wondering how long that would take before he was asked that question, “Nah.”

“Why not?” The man looks shocked by his answer, “Bro Lambda is the best.”

“It’s my last year.” Quinn takes a sip of his drink.

“Perfect time.” The guy slaps at his back.

God, Quinn really does not want to have this conversation. He’s had it several over the years, and it’s never fun, “It’s expensive.”

The man laughs like he thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world, “Just get your parents to pay for it.”

“That would be a cold day in hell.” Quinn glares.

“Whatever, man.” The man looks around the backyard, “Joining was the best decision of my life.”

“Good for you.” His tone dry.

Josh puts a hand on Quinn’s thigh, “Jake, stop bothering him.”

“Whatever, dude.” The guy gets up and stumbles away.

Josh leans in close to Quinn’s ear, “You want to head out.” His thumb trails the exposed skin of his thigh. Quinn nods.

They couldn’t have been at the party for more than thirty minutes. He would have liked to of finished his drink to blame his lack of judgment on a nice buzz. He knows when he eventually tells Elias that Josh has resurfaced, he’ll blame it on that. It’s just he wishes he could have justified it for his own sake.

They walk down the street with Josh still typing away on his phone. He types for a while like he’s writing paragraphs. Quinn can’t imagine who he’s talking to.

They are halfway to frat row when Josh gets a phone call. The guy groans before answering, “Hey.” He looks so pained.

Quinn grabs hold of his hand. He wants Josh to know he’s here. If it’s rough, call then he wants Josh to know he has him.

He guesses it wasn’t the right move because Josh snatches his hand away. He speaks again, “No, I hear you. I do. I’ll see you when I see you.”

Shit, is he taking the guy’s time. It sounds like he’s really getting it from the person on the other end.

“Just listen to me for a fucking minute,” Josh swears, “Give me like an hour tops, and I’ll be there.” The man hangs up without another word.

Quinn looks up at him, “I can go if you need to be somewhere.”

Josh shakes his head, “We just got to be quick.”

He knows he should just go. Let Josh head out, but this is the first time he has seen the guy in so long. This is the first time he’s been wanted in an even longer time. Josh is willing to put his plans on hold for him, and it shouldn’t make butterflies rise in his stomach, but it does. Josh wants him. He really does.

They walk in silence to the frat house. Josh leads him up the stairs and into his living quarters. The house is quiet as most guys are either at the party or aren’t back yet. There are still a few more weeks before school starts, but slowly town is starting to fill with students.

Josh pushes him back onto the familiar futon. It’s lumpy, and the bars dig into his back as Josh pushes him deeper into the cushion. The man leans down to press a kiss to his lips before trailing kisses down his neck.

He sucks on his throat right below his ear, causing Quinn to let out a whine. He feels Josh smile into his skin before he comes up to nip at his ear. His voice rough and low, “God, how I’ve missed you under me.”

…

When everything is all said and done, Josh is practically kicking him out of the room. Quinn struggles to pull on his shorts, and his legs still feel like they could give out any minute. What he’d give just to cuddle with Josh, but as the guy looks around the room from his underwear, he gets a phone call.

Josh groans as he answers the phone, “Ash, I will be there.”

Quinn can’t help but feel guilty. It’s been over an hour since he got the first phone call, and now Josh is late for whatever plans he had. He feels so bad.

“Just calm down. I’m just hanging out with a friend,” Quinn’s trying not to listen as he pulls on his shoes, but it’s hard when Josh is shouting, “Babe, I promise it isn’t anyone important.”

Ouch. Quinn doesn’t even bother to button up his jersey. He just leaves the room and shoves past a few of Josh’s brothers as he runs out of the house. He should have known. He really should have. He’s not special. He’s just the person Josh hits up when he’s bored.

The guy had just whispered sweet possessive shit into his ear not even ten minutes ago, and now he’s calling someone else, babe. Like Josh hadn't called him that mere moments ago. Josh kept telling him he was his, and for a moment there, Quinn believed it. He thought he was someone to Josh, but it turns out he’s nothing more than a body. It hurts, hurts more than he thought it would.

It was easy for the guy to ghost him. Maybe it did keep him up at night, but nothing more than the usual shit would. This, though, he feels dirty. He is disgusted with himself for letting this happen. For letting himself believe that maybe he could be someone to Josh.

Digging around in his pocket, he finds the blue tube that holds a fat joint that he rolled before getting on the bus. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to smoke at the party. He’s glad he brought it because he wants to forget about the world around him right about now. So he posts up at the small park down the street and sparks up.

With each inhale, his lungs fill with poison. The smokes thick and rough as it enters his body. It scratches at his throat, clawing its way into his chest. The smoke fights to make a home in his lungs, so Quinn must exhale.

With each and every exhale, the world begins to slow until it comes to a complete stop. The world stands still around him. It’s giving him a moment to catch his breath around all chaos and worry. He’s given seconds of just nothingness.

There’s no heartbreak in these seconds, no questioning his future, no linger pain in this world. In this world, his head is clear. For just a second, he’s the only one that matters because it is just him and a world full of nothingness.

It’s the feeling he’s been searching for since he left the ice. Skating was the only place that the world seemed to stop for just a couple moments. When he’d step out onto the ice to take his first lap, the world slowed around him. It didn’t matter how many people were in the stands. It was silent.

In those moments, no one was yelling at him. They weren’t focused on pushing him hard. His dad wasn’t in his ears telling him he can do better. His coach wasn't telling him there were scouts in the stands. His teammates weren't there telling him about the rocket in the second row. It was just him and the sounds of his skates on the ice.

It was him gliding around the rink, one skate at a time. He was alone for a handful of seconds before a teammate would come crashing into him, pulling him back to reality. Even if the game was shit and he didn’t want to be out there, for those couple of seconds, his world was clear. In those moments, he had a purpose.

He ashes the roach and puts it into the tube. Looking around, he knows the area enough to find a bus home. Walking towards campus, he finds a bus stop with the route he needs. Knowing this route, he shouldn’t have to wait long. The bus picks up every fifteen minutes.

He looks up at the sky. The sun is setting into the pretty orange. It’s been a surprisingly clear week for them. No rain clouds in the forecast, so he’ll be able to see the stars.

…

It was just getting dark when he found a spot on the grass in front of his complex. He had gotten home and sparked up another joint before making his way outside. He laid out, waiting for the stars. It took about another hour before the faintest bit of light shined through the sky.

His phone has vibrated a couple of times since he’s laid down. They’ve all been from Josh, all consisting of ‘it’s not what you think it is,’ and ‘trust me’ and even ‘when can I see you again.’ Quinn wants to block his number. He wants to tell Josh to fuck off. He wants the guy to be true in his words.

The thing is, what Quinn wants and what he does is tells Josh he’ll see him before classes start. He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but there is just something about it. Something in the way his stomach turns when Josh tells him he can’t wait to see him again. The way the toxicity makes him run hot in anticipation.

He looks up at the stars. They are shining brighter now. So high above him, but yet so near. They won’t judge him for his decisions. The other night he spoke to the stars about Josh. About how the man made him want to be loved. He told them how he knew Josh probably would never love him like he could see himself loving the man. The stars didn’t care then.

But it's different when he tells the stars about Chris. Oh, hows the stars shine so bright. When he told them that he thinks maybe Chris could love him if he got the chance, a star fell from the sky. It’s dropped in the atmosphere so fast. It couldn’t be stopped no matter how hard the void tried.

Quinn imagined that star falling into the earth like a meteor. Craving its place into the world. Being apart of something it didn’t know before. That star becoming familiar with the earth beneath it. The star falling in love with the world around it. Even as it died a little more each second, it stayed there.

He doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps but rather feels the wetness before he sees who it is. Quinn wipes at his face. Carol is holding a cup with her head thrown back laughing. She wipes her eyes like it’s so funny that he’s wet.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Quinn swears.

“What are you doing out here?” The woman asks.

Quinn sits up to look at the woman, “What are you doing out here?”

Carol pulls out her pack of cigarettes, “Having a smoke,” she pulls one out before sliding that pack back in her pocket, “Now answer my question.”

The woman places the cigarette between her lips and lights it, “Just looking at the stars,” Quinn says.

Taking a drag of her cigarette, she lets out the smoke to say, “Bullshit.”

“I am,” Quinn explains before looking back at the stars. They don’t ask him these questions. They just let him talk to him, never asking anything of them.

The woman takes another drags before saying, “Quinn honey, what going on in that brain of yours.”

Quinn sighs. He really doesn’t know what’s going on with him. His brain has been everywhere, but in his head recently. It’s been hard to focus on all that much this week between the calls with his parents and classes. His dad called the other day to ask what his plans were for post-graduate as one of his employees will be retiring at the end of the year.

The one thing he does know is that he won’t work for his father. He will never work for him. He doesn’t care if he made all the money in the world. He won’t go back there. Never in his life will he ever take a hand out from his dad after he’s put it so clearly how he feels about him.

“Honey.” Carol's bones crack as she takes a seat on the grass with him. She hands him over a cigarette.

“Thanks.” He puts it between his lips as Carol lights it for him.

“Now, what is going on?”

Quinn takes a drag of his cigarette, trying to think of the words to say. With an exhale, he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?” She asks.

He looks up at the sky. He finds the brightest star and says, “I don’t know.”

“You’ve got to know something.”

“Fuck I don’t know. Like with my life,” Quinn sighs, not looking away from the star he’d been focused on, “What is my passion, my purpose, what is my life.” The woman doesn’t say anything for a moment, so he dares to say, “And my love life.”

“What’s going on there?” She takes another drag, and so does Quinn.

“It’s so fucked up right now. With Josh and all. I don’t know what he wants from me.” The woman looks over at him with a soft expression, “Fuck even Chris.”

The woman sighs, “What about Chris?”

Quinn shakes his head, “It’s stupid.”

The woman puts out her cigarette on her shoe, “I bet it’s not.”

How can she be so sure? The guy’s not even sure if the guy is into guys. “Like I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Oh, honey.” Carol tosses the bud to the pavement in front of them, “He cares about you a lot.”

“I wish he didn’t.” He doesn’t care how bad that sounds. If Chris cared about him less, then he wouldn’t be so hung up on the guy. The man wiggled his way into his life, and the thought of him leaving without even getting a chance with him hurts more than leaving hockey behind, “I wish he was like every other toxic man.”

Quinn takes a few more drags of his cigarette before ashing it on his shoe and tossing it where Carol had landed. He looks over at the woman, and she stares at him. She’s looking at him like the puzzles she does. The woman grabs hold of his hand. She holds it lightly like his grandmother would when she’s trying to get her point across, “Quinn, he a good man that wants the best for you.”

Quinn laughs with a shake of his head, “I just don’t get why a nice guy like him cares about a trash person like me.”

Carol tightens her grip on his hand, “Quintin, he cares because you a good guy.”

“I’m not thought.” He literally just slept with a guy that he’s pretty sure is already seeing someone and said he’d hang out with him again soon, “I’m not a good person.”

“Yes, you are.” Her voice is so sure, “No matter what anyone says, you are good.”

“I’m a fuck up.” He looks back at the stars, searching for the brightest one, “A dead beat.” He can’t find it, so he looks back at Carol, “Worthless.”

“You are not worthless.” He has to look away from her. Her face is something close enough to pity that he doesn’t want to see it.

Quinn wants to laugh at that because it’s not true. He’s been told it enough time’s that he is. They must be right. After all the times he’s been called a fuck up for leaving a life he was destined for, he realizes that they were right. He threw his whole life away for what a mediocre communications degree and a little bit of bud. He’s a fuck up through and through.

“Quinn, you are not worthless,” She says again.

“Then why do I feel like I am.” He spits.

“Honey.” The woman’s voice is soft, “Maybe you should…”

He looks at her, “If you say I should talk to someone, don’t.” He’s done it before.

His freshman year it was either he saw someone about his drinking, or he was going to get kicked out. The hour-long conversation led to nowhere but weekly check-ins with his RA and resident director. All apparently worried about him. Thinking his drinking was to cope with an issue that wasn’t there. He just liked partying, getting drunk, and quieting his brain was just a bonus to it all.

“Quinn.” The woman pulls him out of his thoughts.

“No.” He back at the stars, “I can deal with this on my own.”

“You deserve to talk to someone.”

Quinn shakes his head, “No, I don’t.”

“Why not,” Quinn opens his mouth, “If you say it because you’re not a good person, I will stop giving you cigarettes.”

“Fine, whatever,” he huffs.

Carol sighs, “You deserve good things.” The woman lets out a groan as she gets off the ground. She looks down at him to say, “You deserve for people to be good to you.”

“But why?”

“Why can’t you just deserve them.” She gives him a soft smile.

Quinn shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve things like that. Good people deserve good things, not him. The universe has made it very clear that it is not the case.

The woman shakes her head, “How about some supper?”

Quinn nods and stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this fic has strayed a little bit from what I originally wanted it to be focused on, but I'm not mad about it. I like what I've done with it. Originally I started writing this last year during my 3rd year of university as I was struggling to find my purpose outside of the academic world (which I still am), and I really wanted that to be a big part of Quinn's character. So slowly, I'm going to start to introduce more of that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	12. September/October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I have waited to post this, probably. Am I impatient, yes.

Classes just started, and Quinn is already sitting on the floor of Chris’ apartment with a math packet in front of him. Chris is sat next to him as the man tries to explain the concept of quadratic equations. He’s not getting any of it. His brain doesn’t work like this.

He wants to throw the packet out the window and never think of math again, but he can’t. He’s got another nine weeks of hell, otherwise known as college algebra. It’s just so hard for no reason. His recitation TA has already told him that he might want to start coming to office hours. It’s barely the second week, and he’s already doing bad enough for people to notice.

Chris nudges him with his kneecap, “You paying attention?”

Quinn narrows his glance, “I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“Come on,” Chris pushes the packet in front of him, “Just let me explain.”

Quinn groans, “What the point? I’m going to fail again.”

Chris wraps an arm around him, “Not when you have me as a tutor.”

The man laughs, but Quinn is not sure what’s so funny. He can’t do this. Math doesn’t click in his head like it does for Chris. He’s never been all the bright when it came to numbers. His grade school teachers told him as much. They told his parents that they might want to get him tested for a learning disability, but his dad wouldn’t have it. He just believed that he wasn’t applying himself like he should.

But how could he? Between hockey and school, one always came before the other, and it definitely wasn’t school. His dad had it planned out that he wouldn’t need school. He’d get a career on talent, not brains. If his birthday wasn’t in October, his dad would have had his way.

Quinn looks down at the packet again. The graphs make no sense to him. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Chris gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“No, I fucking can’t.” Quinn shoves the packet back.

Chris sighs, “No reason to get angry about it.”

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Quinn groans.

Chris lifts his chin to look to his eyes, “No, you aren’t.” The man drops his hand, but Quinn’s eyes stay on him, “You are not stupid.”

Yes, he is. Chris has been able to do every problem like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I can’t so simple math,” Quinn says.

“You know this class is right behind organic chemistry for being the most failed class on campus.”

Quinn can’t help but roll his eyes at that, “No fucking shit. I’ve already failed it.” He scrubs at his eyes.

It’s starting to feel like when his mom would sit at the dinner table with him trying to help him with long division. Even though his dad wasn’t helping him, the man still said he couldn’t leave the table till it was finished. Although he would cave if Quinn needed to practice.

More times than not, that usually happened. He’d go into class with half-finished math, and the excuse of he had hockey practice. It got to the point where his teachers called home and asked his parents to have him finish his homework before going to practice. What they didn’t realize even at nine years old, he'd be at the rink for more hours than he was at home. It was almost impossible to get anything done at the rate.

Chris pulls him closer, pulling him out of thought, “It’s just there’s no reason to get upset about it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be stupid,” Quinn spits.

“Quinn, you’re so smart.” He wishes he could believe it, “I couldn’t read like you do.”

Quinn can’t help but laugh, “It’s not hard to read, though.”

“I don’t even know the last time I picked up a book. I think the last book I read was Harry Potter when I was a kid,” Chris laughs, “Cause I don’t think my thesis counts.”

Shaking his head, Quinn says, “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?” The man smiles wide.

And okay, maybe Chris is making him feel better, but mostly because it’s Chris. The man doesn’t even know how much comfort he brings him. So he decided to push his luck a little, “Only if I can get a hug.”

Chris laughs, “You always want a hug.” Only because Chris’s hugs are the best, “You little huggy bear.”

“Huggy bear?” Quinn raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Chris smiles wide, “A cute little bear that wants hugs all the time.”

He warms under the words. Chris said he was cute. Does he think he’s cute, “So you think I’m cute?”

Chris shoves at him lightly. “Do you want that hug or not.”

Quinn laughs but leans closer to Chris anyways. It’s a little awkward at this angle, but Chris wraps both arms around him. Shifting a little bit Quinn gets onto his knees to hug Chris back.

The man is warm against him. His strong arms tighten when Quinn shifts closer to him. One of his legs is between Chris's open legs. If he was only bold enough, Quinn would lower himself to sit on Chris’ thigh. He’d curl himself close, lay his head on Chris’ shoulder and just stay like that.

Chris looks up at him with a soft smile. Their faces are closer than they’ve ever been before. Quinn could lean in, he could close the distance, he could do what he’s wanted to do for months. He can’t. He can’t do it. He won’t ruin what’s been a great friendship.

Even with Chris's eyes on him looking like he’s staring at his mouth. He can’t do it. He’d do it if Chris were to lean in. He’d kiss back. He’d let the man do what he wants, but he knows that won’t happen. He’ll just have to live with the hugs and his late-night fantasies about his friend.

It’s the vibrating in his back pocket that gets him to pull back. He unwraps his arms from Chris and moves back to his spot on the floor. Pulling his phone out of his pocket. It’s Josh, and he wants to hang out.

Chris must have looked at his phone, “You’ve got to finish your homework before you hang out with your boyfriend.”

God, how the word sounds coming off of Chris's lips. It sounds so wrong, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Might as well be. You’ve been hanging out with him enough.” Chris shakes his head, “Just let me help you finish your packet before you go.”

His words leave a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth. Josh isn’t his boyfriend. He’s not sure what they are, but they aren’t boyfriends. It’s barely even casual at this point. Josh really only hits him up once or twice a week, and that’s mostly for quick sex and maybe McDonald's if he’s feeling generous.

It’s weird because even though it’s not what Quinn wants, he’ll settle for it. Josh isn’t what he pictures when he thinks of himself having a boyfriend. He thinks of someone stable, not someone who ghosts him for weeks at a time. It might be asking for the bare minimum, but hey, all Quinn is asking for is the bare minimum at this point.

Quinn just slides his phone back into his pocket. He turns to look at Chris, “Josh isn’t my boyfriend, and my math and the current company is far more important.”

His friend gives him a weak smile, but a smile never the less, “Yeah yeah. Your math. Only using me for help.”

Quinn gives him a good shove getting Chris to shove him back. It’s a little rough, so Quinn pushes him back. The man lets out a laugh as he falls to his side. Quinn can’t help but laugh with him.

He doesn’t expect it when Chris grabs his wrists and pulls him on top of him. He’s laid out on top of his friend, and it shouldn’t get Quinn as hot as it does. “You are such an asshole,” Quinn laughs.

Chris raises an eyebrow, “I’m the asshole.”

“Yeah, you are.” Quinn teases. Definitely, the wrong thing to say cause Chris is bringing his hands to his sides and tickling him, “Yo-u are a-re su-ch an.” Quinn can’t even finish his sentence as he tries to fight back the laughter.

Within a blink of an eye, Quinn finds himself under Chris. The man still attacking his body as Quinn tries to fight the hold, “You were saying.”

“Ass-hole.” Quinn tries to get at Chris's sides, but the man gets to his hands before he can’t even get close.

Putting them above his head, Chris pins his wrists with one hand, and shit, this is not how he saw the night going. Most of his fantasies start out this way, with Chris pinning his hands over his head. Before he can embarrass himself, the audible sounds of vibrating comes through.

It’s his phone in his back pocket. Chris pulls back moves away from his body. Quinn quickly sits up and looks at his phone. It’s Josh again. **_Babe, I really want to see you._**

Quinn doesn’t reply again, but Chris must have read the text again. “Yeah, totally not your boyfriend.” His tone is cold. And fuck does it hurt, “Let’s just finish so you can go.”

“But we were going to watch a movie.” Quinn sighs.

Chris shakes his head, “Just go see your boyfriend, clearly he wants to see you.”

It’s quiet; he’s not sure the man hears it, “But he’s not.”

Chris just shoves the packet back in front of him and goes off on quadratic equations again.

…

With all the people back on campus, work has been hell. So many people coming in and out of the building. He may not have started his shift yet, but by the looks of the main lounge, it’s going to be a long night. Trash is all over the floor, and tables are moved to places they shouldn’t be. As much as he wants to tell people something, he’s not on his shift yet. He’s still got another hour.

Elias looks to be just as pained as he is. At least he got up to tell his co-worker at the guest service desk that he’s pretty sure a frat is going around on their shotgun tour. It’s not even five pm yet, and the group of fraternity men looks hammered as hell. At least they could be considerate and do it before closing, so they don’t scare a poor freshman.

His friend looks up from his phone when he gets back to their table and asks, “So what happened with you and Josh?”

“Did Brock ask?” They might be hanging out again, but he still hasn’t forgiven his friend yet.

“Yeah, but…”

Quinn doesn’t even let him finish, “Then I’m not going to tell you.”

“Come on. I also want to know,” Elias says.

Quinn rolls his eyes, “Fine.” He sighs, “We’ve been hooking up, but it’s nothing serious.”

"Dude,” Elias groans, “What happened to not wanting casual?”

He shrugs, “It’s whatever.”

Elias shakes his head, “What about Chris, though?”

“More mixed signals than Josh,” he says honestly.

After last week he doesn’t know where he stands with Chris. Once he finished his packet, he was basically kicked out to go hang out with Josh even though he really didn’t want to. His night just led him to giving Josh head before the guy when off to party with his brothers.

When he got home, he wanted to knock on Chris's door to ask he wanted to watch the movie. He didn’t, though. His mouth tasted like a dick and probably smelt like one too. So, it was better; he just went home, got in the shower, and went to bed.

“No shit,” Elias says, pulling him out of thought.

“Yeah.” Quinn shrugs, “Like sometimes he acts like he’s into me, then other times he treats me like I’m his little brother.” 

“Damn.” Elias shakes his head.

“It’s not fair cause he’s just so nice and hot,” Quinn groans.

"And your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Yes, you do.” Quinn knows he doesn’t have a type, and Elias is full of shit.

“Then what is it? He asks.

“Big, broad, someone that looks like they could toss you around.” Okay, maybe Elias is on to something, “He’s just not toxic.”

Shit, okay, maybe he does have a type, “Okay fuck fine.”

“Don’t forget older,” Elias laughs.

“Not even.” Quinn practically shouts.

Elias glares at him and it his death glare, “Think about it.”

So, he does. He thinks back to all the guys he’s hooked up with, the memorable ones. Shit, the only ones he can think of are the guys that are older than him. The ones in their late twenties early thirties that knew how to treat him. The ones that laid him out and gave him what he likes. Fucking hell.

Quinn rests his head against the table, “Okay, fine. It’s not my fault that older guys just know.”

“Know what?” He doesn’t even have to look up to know Elias is smirking.

“What I want,” Quinn groans, “It’s just they are so much nicer, kinder, not always total tools. They just know.”

Elias laughs, getting Quinn to look up, “You want someone to take care of you, to show they care, and to push you around a little.”

Quinn groans, “Exactly.”

“Your daddy issues are showing,” Elias smirks.

“Fuck you.” Quinn flips him off.

“Hey, sometimes you can get that in a guy that’s twenty-two,” Elias smirks.

“Wait.” Quinn's eyes go wide. This can’t mean what he thinks it means, “Since when.”

“Last week.” Elias smiles wide.

“What?” He needs to know more.

Elias looks so happy. He smiles softer than Quinn’s ever seen him, “We were watching a movie, and then all of a sudden I’m being pulled into Brock’s lap, and we are making out.”

“No fucking way.” Quinn knows he’s loud, but fuck, he doesn’t care. His best friend just got the man he’s been pining over for years now.

“Yeah.” He smiles before it drops, “I think we are going to keep it casual for now.”

What Brock move, “What happens if Brock only wants to keep it casual?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.” Elias shrugs, “What about you? Seriously what if Josh only wants casual?”

“Then it stays casual,” Quinn says because like what else can he do. Josh is the only guy actively wanting to get into his pants right now, so it’s not like he’s going to turn it down.

“Thought you didn’t want casual,” Elias says.

Quinn gives a slight shrug, “Sometimes you just got to settle when we can’t get what we want.”

“What do you want?” His tone is soft.

“Chris.” He didn’t expect it to be so hard to say, but it is. He wants Chris so bad. Josh is just another guy while Chris, he’s something else. He’s what Quinn wants. He looks over at Elias, who’s just nodding, “And what do you want?”

Elias gives him a weak smile, “Brock.”

Quinn shakes his head, “Aren’t we a pair of sad sacks.”

Elias just nods before going back to his laptop in front of him. God, they are both so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I failed college algebra class freshman year. That shit sucked. I stop showing up at six weeks cause I had like a 20% in the class.


	13. October

Quinn’s sat on his couch with icy feet dug under Chris’ thigh. Chris came over to help Quinn with his math homework, but he had already figured it out by the time the man made his way over. So now they are just watching a stream of the university basketball game. It’s not the best quality, but it’s being streamed through his math recitation Discord page. It started out as a joke cause one of the players is in his recitation, so everyone on the page said they should watch it to support him.

Quinn doesn’t care all too much about basketball, but it’s a free stream, so he’ll watch it. Chris hasn’t been paying much attention either, as he’s been scrolling through his phone for a while. The thing is, Quinn isn’t sure what he could even be doing. The guy doesn’t have Instagram, no Twitter, or really any other social media. He’s only got on old Facebook that Quinn may have stalked for a while. All it really told him was that he stopped using Facebook in 2016, and the guy’s family likes the tag him stuff even if he never sees it.

Eventually, Chris puts his phone down to look at him, “So what are you doing for you big twenty oner?”

“The boys are taking me out to the bar. We aren’t planning on staying out like really late or anything, but just like a couple of drinks,” Quinn explains.

Chris laughs to himself, “So no big twenty one bash.”

“We’ll do more stuff this weekend, but we all work in the morning, so we can’t.”

“They taking you out tonight.”

“Nah. We’ll do western Wednesday tomorrow.” 

“Ahh, I see.” Chris nods, “Is it just going to be them?”

“Yeah.”

“No, Josh.”

Quinn scratches at the back of his head, “Probably not.”

“So, it’s over.”

“Not really, but it’s not like we are together either, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” Chris raises an eyebrow, so Quinn continues, “Like he never actually taken me out. It’s just sex and maybe McDonalds on the way home.” Chris pinches the bridge of his nose like that just pained him to hear, “We are still talking a little bit, but it’s nothing serious.”

Chris shakes his head, “You deserve better.”

Quinn can't help but laugh. If this guy only knew, “Yeah, I wish I did.”

His friend sighs and turns, so his back is to the arm of the couch. Quinn briefly misses the warmth of Chris's thigh, but the man tosses him a blanket, “You do, though.” Chris takes a moment before continuing, “Someone who loves you even after sex.”

“Whatever.” Quinn doesn't want to deal with this right now. He can't explain that all he's good for is the sex and the awkward small talk, “You want dinner?”

Chris must take the change of subject for what it is because he doesn't press any further, “Yeah, what are you making?”

“Making," Quinn laughs. Chris should know him better than that. 

“Do you ever cook for yourself?”

“Does instant ramen and sandwiches count?" 

Chris groans, “Get up; we are going to my place.”

They make the short walk over to Chris' apartment. Quinn's been over enough to know the lay of the land. He plops down on the couch he's grown accustomed to when he spots something that was there a couple of days before. It's two degrees framed on the wall. Getting up, Quinn makes his way over to them. 

One from York University in Mathematics and the other from the University of British Columbia in Mathematics for Education. Soon enough, Chris will have another for a Ph.D. in mathematics. It's crazy to think about how smart he actually is. The guy that lives just crossed the way in their shitty run down complex is a genius. Or at least in Quinn's eyes, he is. 

He looks over at Chris, who's pulling vegetables out of the fridge, “When did you put these up?”

Chris looks over at him. He takes in what Quinn is looking at, “The other day. They were just collecting dust in a box, so I took them out.”

“Cool.” He says cause he really doesn't know what else to say. He can't say anything that would even match up to how impressed that he is of Chris. The guy is so smart; having one math degree is impressive, but in the stages of completing his third is out of this world. He doesn't even know how someone would land on math. It's always been so hard for Quinn, so he couldn't imagine how Chris got there, so he asks, “How did you know math was for you?”

“Always liked the problem solving of it as a kid," Chris explains. 

Quinn laughs, “Weirdo.”

Chris smiles, “Asshole.”

It's quiet again as Chris begins to cut into the vegetables. He has this soft smile on his face that Quinn wants to walk up and kiss it off of him. He wouldn't dare, though. His intrusive thoughts about Chris are enough to worry about, and acting on them would be too much. Chris is just his friend and nothing more, no matter how much Quinn doesn't want it to be true. A man like Chris would never like a deadbeat like him. No man as good as Chris would want him. 

He's just a stupid twenty-year-old or, well, twenty-one-year-old tomorrow. He doesn't have a future or even a thought of one. He's got two academic terms left, and he doesn't have a clue what he's going to do with his degree. It isn't like there isn't an endless amount of options, but pick one is the hard part. 

It's just the world is so big, and the opportunities to accomplish something are endless. He chose a degree on a whim, little to no thought behind it. It's scary that come June, people expect him to have his life planned out. To have his whole life figured out at the age of twenty-one. The thing is, he's had his life planned out since he was nine years old, and he's strayed so far from that path that thinking of a new one terrifies him. 

Thinking of the future keeps him up enough at night. When it's well past two am, and he's tossing and turning. Running over every little thought about what his life will be like after June. He will be jobless with a degree and no thought about what he wants. He's not like all his friends that have it planned out. They have more than one plan or even two, and he has none. 

The silence is too much, and Quinn desperately wishes to fill it, “Wish I knew what I wanted.”

Chris looks up from the cutting board, “Didn’t you have a dream job as a kid?”

Quinn doesn't even have to think about it, “The NHL.”

“Ah, I see.” Chris has a soft smile like most people did when he was a kid, and he'd tell them that he wanted to play hockey for the rest of his life, “But like did you have anything else.” Quinn laughs, “What so funny?”

“I wasn’t allowed to dream of anything else," Quinn explains. 

Chris raises an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

“It was all or nothing with my dad.” His dad was so adamant on him making it. Pushing him until he couldn't be pushed anymore, “So when I quit and had to actually think about school, all I thought was well, I like social media.”

“Jesus.” His friend shakes his head. He begins cutting again, "You didn't think about it much, did you?"

“I didn’t have much time to think about it.” He remembers Googling any university that got him as far away from his parents as possible. He'd sit in his room well after his parents went to bed and search for schools that would want him, “I had to fill out applications without my parents knowing.”

“They didn’t know you were going to school.”

“I was already committed to Michigan when I figured out I wanted to quit hockey.”

“Shit.” Chris looks so shocked by that. It's not like he got in on academics. He wouldn't ever be able to get into a school like that based on his high school transcript. The only thing that got him into university was his lucky guesses on his SAT that he took again without his parents knowing. Chris continues, “What were you going to major in?”

Quinn walks over to the counter where Chris is cutting some bell peppers, “It was undecided cause according to my dad that if I picked something, then maybe I’d actually want to finish before I went to the show.”

“What the hell. Didn’t they want you to finish school?” Chris asks. 

Quinn shakes his head, “My mom did. My dad not so much.”

“Shit.” It's quiet like Chris doesn't want him to hear him.

“Yeah, so when I applied here, I looked through all the majors. I saw media comm. and thought it was cool.” He found the program right after his seventeenth birthday and knew it was for him. For weeks he stayed up Googling the university, the area, and the state. It was right out of his dreams. The red brick buildings, the endless miles of Fir trees, and two thousand three hundred and fifty-nine miles away from home, “It didn’t sound hard. I almost picked English cause I liked reading.”

“Why didn’t you?” Chris begins cutting some potatoes. 

“I knew when I finally told my parents they would be pissed.” 

“That sucks.”

“I probably could have done English cause when I told them, all they really cared about was that I was throwing my life away.”

He'll never forget the look on his parents' faces. The disappointment in his mother's eyes and the rage in his father's. He'll never forget how his dad told him that he's wasting his life away, that he wasted years of his life and their money to not live out their plan. He'll never forget crying to his brothers. They didn't deserve that, the burden he put on them. They were to fulfill their father's dreams because he wouldn't. 

Chris nudges him, “When did you tell them?”

Quinn shakes his head, “That’s a story for another day.”

His friend just nods in understatement. It grows silent again, but this time it's at least comfortable. He hops up onto the counter next to Chris and watches as he prepares dinner. He doesn't bother to offer to help because he knows he wouldn't be much of a help. He's pretty sure Chris knows as much. Even if the guy teases him about it when he catches Quinn snagging a piece of bell pepper went, he complains that he's hungry. 

It feels too domestic for Quinn's liking. Chris cooking for him as he watches, the small talk and their running banter. Like Quinn could come home after a long day and find Chris in the kitchen cooking them dinner. It's like it's out of a dream. Quinn has to shake the thought out of his head. He hops down from the counter and returns to the couch when Chris starts to cook some chicken. 

He turns on the TV and searches through the channels that Chris has. The man at least has cable, unlike Quinn. It's nice even if Chris has limited channels. He's still able to find a movie channel, and Quinn is happy enough to start a movie he's never seen as it's ending. 

When dinner is finished, Chris brings him a plate as the next movie starts and then another. Now with their plates finished and sitting in the sink, Chris sinks back into the couch. He sits closer to Quinn than he had before and wraps an arm around him. It's late, and Quinn should probably head back to his apartment to start to wind down for the night, but with Chris wrapped around him, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Where the last movie was some action movie from the 80s that he vaguely remembers watching with his dad, this one is some cheesy romcom that Quinn's never seen, but it's kind of sweet. Even if the love story is over the top and revolves around soulmates. It's something Quinn has never got. The universe giving you someone that you are supposed to be unconditionally devoted to. It's a sweet thought but also makes Quinn's stomach turn. 

Looking up, Quinn asks, “Do you believe in soulmates?”

Chris's face goes soft. Eyes kind and warm as he says, “Kinda.” Quinn laughs at him a little, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I think it’s stupid," Quinn admits. 

“Why?” Quinn just shrugs at Chris's question, “Having someone you love and believe that the universe made you meant to be.”

Quinn sighs, “Okay, fine, maybe it’s not stupid, but like the whole being in with someone love is stupid.”

Chris looks like he's on the verge of laughing and confusion, “I’m listening.”

“Like I know what love. And there are people in my life I love, but like I don’t think I could ever love anyone like that.” He hopes it doesn't sound as ridiculous as he thinks it does.

“Like relationships?” Chris asks.

“I guess.” Quinn's trying to find the words for it, “Like I want to be someone’s other half, but I don’t know if I capable.”

“Quinn.” Chris's voice is soft, like he's trying to communicate something with only his name.

“Don’t do that.” He doesn't need to man to do that to him right now. “Like every time I’ve tried for something serious, it never works out.”

Chris turns to look him in the eyes, “Is this about Josh?”

“No, it's not even just Josh.” Is all the men that have ever come into his life, “Other guys.” Literally, every man that isn't Elias or Brock. They just don't stay, “People just don’t want to stick around.”

“I’m sure there is a guy out there who would love you unconditionally.” Quinn wishes he could believe that. He wishes Chris was right about that, "I know there is."

“Yeah and I’m going to be president.” Quinn tries to play it off with a laugh.

It must not land well cause Chris takes his hand. It looks like he's about to say something serious, but instead, he says, “Jesus, you’re hands are freezing.”

“They're always cold.” It's the truth. Even in the summer, he can find his hands fridged. 

“Jesus, kid, what am I going to do with you." Chris shakes his head with a laugh before unwraps his arm from around his shoulder to use both hands to brings Quinn's hands to his face. His larger hand dwarf Quinn's. They're strong and warm around his. The man cups them to blow hot air into them. If this was any other man, Quinn would be mildly disgusted, but this is Chris. 

Chris finally lets go of his hands but keeps close. Quinn sinks into Chris. He lets his head rests on the edge of Chris's shoulder. The man doesn't flinch at the touch, so he figures it's okay. Neither of them says anything. They just turned back to the movie. 

The movie seems to be closing in on the end as the girl gets the guy. It's sweet; it really is. They realize that they are soulmates when they finally kiss, and the world goes quiet for several moments. It sounds nice, a kiss that could stop the world from spinning for just a moment. Even if it's only for them. 

Quinn looks up at Chris. He's smiling, and he looks so happy. Quinn wants to always see Chris this happy. He's caught staring, but the smile doesn't waver. Not even a little, so Quinn asks, “So you seriously believe in the universe create someone for you to love.”

“I like the idea.” The thing is, it does sound nice. Having someone who loves you and they truly mean it. They aren't just convincing themselves that they are in love with you, but they actually are.

Even if it does sound nice, Quinn still isn't all that convinced, “The only thing I believe the universe has done right is creating the stars.”

“So, do you believe in that zodiac sign shit?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Not really.” He tried to get into it freshman year of college. The girls that lived next door were really into it. They created him a birth chart and gave him Tarot card readings, but he just couldn't get into it, “It’s fun, but I don’t fully believe in it.”

“But you believe in the stars.” 

“Yeah, I do.” Quinn smiles, and Chris smiles right back. 

He's so close to Chris. If he were to sit up a little straighter, his lips would brush the man's jaw. If he were to lean up a little bit more, he could press his lips to Chris' lips. It would just be a brief press of his lips, quick, unforgettable, but he can't do that. Chris doesn't want that. 

Quinn jumps back as an alarm goes off. Chris groans as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He quickly turns it off and says, “It’s eleven forty five. I’m making sure I buy you your first legal drink.”

That's how he finds himself in a quiet bar with Chris a little past midnight with a vodka soda, and the man pressed along his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I tell you it's been a week. It's been a fucking week.


	14. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not the longest chapter, but here it is.

A pen cap hits him in the middle of the forehead, but Quinn doesn’t pick up his head. It’s been a long day, and he’d really like for it to be over, but Elias demanded that they study before heading home to get ready to go to the bars. They want to pre-game a little, but not too much. It may be Halloween, but Quinn still has to get up for work in the morning.

Elias throws the pen at him this time, “You should invite Josh.”

Quinn picks his head up off of his notebook, “What?”

“Invite Josh out with us,” Elias says.

Brock will be there. Brock hates Josh. Quinn likes Josh. Quinn also likes Brock, but he likes Josh a whole lot more. So, there shouldn’t be a Josh present.

Elias looks like he’s getting ready to pelt him with a granola bar, so Quinn says, “But Brock.”

“Do you really give a damn what Brock thinks?” Elias raises an eyebrow.

Yeah, he kind of does. Brock is one of his best friends, he’s seeing his best friend, and he’s known him for years, so he kind of does, “Yea and no, but...”

“Then I don’t matter.” Elias narrows his eyes, “I want to see you out with your boy.”

Quinn can’t help but roll his eyes at him, “He’s not my boy.”

Elias shakes his head, “You two have been dating since what August now.”

“We aren’t dating.” They’ve never labeled what they were doing. Quinn’s not sure if Josh feels the same way he does. Josh brings butterflies to his stomach anytime the man looks at him.

“Well, is he seeing anyone else?” Elias asks.

“I sure hope not.” Josh may not seem like the poster child for monogamy, but Quinn’s pretty sure he hasn’t been seeing anyone else, “But Nah, I don’t think so.”

Elias throws the granola bar, and unlike the other times when the items went flying across the library, Quinn manages to catch it, “Then you two are basically dating.”

“Whatever.” Quinn just shrugs. He’s not really sure what to say to that.

“Label it how you will, but ask him to come out.”

Quinn shakes his head, “I’m sure he’s going to be having a party at his frat.”

The little smirk on Elias's face is enough to know that he won’t be able to get out of this, “Yeah, frats ends at midnight; bars don’t close till three.”

Quinn groans, “You’ve got a point.”

“Then.” Elias glares, and Quinn pulls out his phone.

He quickly sends off a text to Josh, who he didn’t think would respond for hours. It's about thirty minutes later, when the two of them are packing up their things to head out, when Josh texts back. He agrees, but only after their frat shuts down for the night. They have to be shut down by midnight do to some city rule, so Quinn will at least have a good buzz going when Josh shows up.

…

Really some things are just accidents. Things like knocking into someone, maybe dropping a drink, or even getting trashes off of two dollar tequila shots. Well, Quinn, at least pretty sure that’s how he got here. He’s being pulled out of a car by Josh. Quinn says goodbye to the driver while Josh groans.

He’s so serious tonight. He wouldn’t let Quinn lean on him while they road home. All he wanted to do was lay his head on Josh's shoulder. To feel his warmth as the baseball jersey, Quinn is wearing isn’t all that warm.

He tried three different times, and Josh pushes him off each and every time. The guy was so attached to his phone while in the car. Quinn once even pocked his cheek to ask what he was doing. Josh has rolled his eyes and said, texting a friend.

Quinn wanted to press on, but the tone Josh gave was cold and annoyed. He didn’t want Josh to be annoyed with him. He wanted to make sure he’d stay like he promised he would. Oh, the thought of having the wavey haired giant cuddling him is what gets him to calm down and stop bothering Josh.

He not sure when he got up the stairs. He’s leaned against the wall with Josh digging around in his pockets. Quinn can’t help it, “Take me to dinner first.”

Josh gives him a shove, “Keys.”

Quinn just shrugs because he's not sure what Josh wants. The man next to him groans. He looks so angry, and it honestly makes Quinn want to cry. He never meant to make Josh mad. He’s not even sure how he did it.

He’s about to apologize when a door opens. There a chance that if he turned to look that he’d fall over, so he just stands there against Josh. Well he tried to, but Josh moves, and Quinn stumbles to the floor.

“Do you need any help with him?” It sounds like Chris, he pretty sure it is Chris, but he doesn’t look up.

“Yeah. He’s being clingy, and I’ve got somewhere else to be.” Quinn pouts because Josh said he'd stay the night with him.

Quinn might not be able to get it up tonight, but he will in the morning before he has to go to work. Shit, he’s got work at ten am. How is he even going to make it in? Did he set an alarm? He’s almost sure he set an alarm, but he needs to make sure.

Digging around in his pockets, Quinn comes up with his phone. He fumbles it for a second, and it slides out of reach. A body with a pair of brightly color pink socks goes to pick it up. The person bends down and he’s met with the face of his friend.

Chris smiles at him as he hands over the phone. He gets one hand in Quinn’s hair when he manages to sit with his back to the wall. Chris gives his scalp a light scratch, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could fight God.” Quinn laughs, getting Chris to laugh. He wants to hear him laugh like that for the rest of his life.

“Alright.” Chris smiles at him before looking up at Josh. “I’ve got a spare key.”

“Great.” Josh nods before Chris opens his door to grab the spare keys off of his hook. Quinn is grateful for giving Chris one. “You can take him if you want,” Josh says.

Chris says as he pulls Quinn to his feet, “Just help me get him inside.” Chris lets him lean into him, and it feels so nice.

“You like his boyfriend.” Why would Josh even think that? Chris would never be into a guy like him.

“Thought that was you,” Chris says.

Quinn didn’t expect Josh to let out a full belly laugh. He’s got his head thrown back, and he laughs. He bends over, still laughing. It looks like he’s trying to catch his breath.

Chris pulls him tight, “Hey, Quinn. Don’t cry.”

Quinn hadn’t even realized the tears that welled in his eyes. It hurts; every last bit of it hurts. He can feel it in his chest. It’s the same feeling he gets when he wakes at two am in a complete panic. The feeling that causes him to wake up next to the toilet as he spent the night dry heaving. He hates that feeling.

Looking up at Chris, “He said he’d stay.”

Josh must have heard because he turns to Quinn, “Dude, I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

“But you promised.” Quinn feels the few tears slip out as he looks at his shoe, “You promised.”

“Did I?” Josh laughs, “Shit, well, I’m not.”

Quinn looks up at Josh, “But I thought…”

Chris cuts him off, “Just leave.”

He wants to fight Josh to stay, but he won’t’. As much as he’d like to wake up next to Josh, he knows no amount of begging will get him to stay. Josh doesn’t bend easy for him like others.

Josh walks down the hall while Chris opens the door. Quinn is still leaning into his body as Chris guides him through his home. It’s dark, but neither of them needs to turn on the lights. The path back to his bedroom is easy enough to follow.

Once in his bedroom, Quinn kicks off his shoes then strips off his jeans and his jersey. Chris shakes his head before throwing a pair of sweats his way. Quinn quickly pulls them on. He may be drunk, but the chill still nips at his toes.

“I don’t like him,” Chris says out of the blue.

“Who?” Quinn tilts his head a little.

Chris shakes his head, “Josh.”

“Why?”

“He’s an asshole.” Chris groans.

“No, he’s not.” While Josh might not always treat him the best, he’s still a good guy, “He’s sweet.”

“Bud.” Chris pushes him down on the bed, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Quinn crawls back, so his head is rested on a pillow, “I’ll be fine.”

“Quinn.” Chris groans.

“I’ve had it worse.” He had much worse than Josh, “Lay with me.”

Chris shakes his head but crawls in beside him, “Only for a little bit.”

“Okay.” Quinn stretches out while Chris looks down at him, “I hope Josh likes me as much as I like him.”

His friend sighs, “You really like him that much.”

“Yeah, I do.” Josh makes him so happy. He makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in to so long, “He wants me, and I want to be wanted.”

“Oh, Quinn.” Chris mummers something else but it’s just out of reach. The only words Quinn could make out are the words, I and want.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Chris's face drops with a shake of his head, “Nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I think I found my posting schedule. I'll try to post every Friday and if not I'm so sorry. The next two weeks are going to be really busy since I'm going into finals.


	15. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update on Friday. Finals have been kicking my ass. 
> 
> there is a playlist for this fic if anyone is interested. [Spotify Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37QPtMIheg19S3GIg4Nmk5?si=aafc1b5a94b043d2)
> 
> Warning: Quinn takes unknown prescription pills in to alter his state of mind. It’s not describe in details. 
> 
> Not beta read and I will die in that hill.

Quinn takes a long look at himself in the mirror. He has ten minutes before his shift starts, and he looks like a wreck. His eyes are bloodshot, the purple skin running the length of his eyes are stained by his tears. His hands are shaking as he goes to turn on to tap.

Splashing his face with cold water, it sobers him. His mind clears for just a second as the frigid water runs down his face. Nothing about his face has changed.

It’s just he wasn’t expecting the phone call. When he answered, he told his brother that he only had thirty minutes before he started work. Fuck he wishes he had more time. He needed more time, but as the garage door went up, his brother hung up.

He wishes he could sit in his car and talk to his brother. He wishes he could have told Luke that everything would be okay, that their parents are proud of him, no matter what he wants to do. He also wishes that he could believe. He wishes Luke would believe him.

All he wanted was to tell him if he really wants to quit, then to quit. That if hockey is making that unhappy, then he shouldn’t continue. He’s had the same conversation with Jack, but the kid, but the sport is his life, and all their talks told him as much. But with Luke, he just seems so lost.

Quinn remembers being that lost. As he sorted through his parents’ tax information, praying they didn’t get home early and catch him. He remembers not knowing who he was without hockey. It was his whole life. It was all he knew, and without it, he was no one.

He takes a scratchy paper towel to his face. It’s rough as he tries to scrub the last thirty minutes away. He can’t, though. No amount of scrubbing with wash away the scars of his past.

He heads out of the bathroom to the employee stairwell sending him to the basements. He’s got a few minutes before he starts, so he hopes the office is clear enough for him to gather his thoughts. Of course, with his luck, his boss, Tony, is sitting at his desk. 

Quinn takes a seat on the couch, waiting until the minute before to cloak in. Luke keeps popping into his head, the crack of his little brother’s voice as he told him how everything has been since his parents found out he’s not staying long for the winter break. How Luke tells him how he’s not sure if he still likes hockey. How he’s not sure if he’s doing the right thing. How he’s not sure, he’s good enough.

The tears stink as they sit behind his eyes. He can’t cry; he just can’t. He wipes at his eyes and tries to fight back the urge to cry. He sniffles as he fights not to breakdown in front of his boss.

Tony turns to him, “Getting sick, bud.” Quinn doesn’t say anything more for a moment; he just shakes his head. Clearly, his boss gets it, “Oh, something else going on.”

Quinn knows by the look in Tony’s eyes when he says, “Yeah,” that he must sound so weak, so pathetic.

His boss must have been thinking it over for a minute before saying, “If you want to take off, you can. I was just going to have you up with Ricky, but you can go home if you need to.”

Taking a moment, Quinn says, “No, it’s okay. I need the hours.”

“Of course.” Tony says before looking at his computers, “Just let me know if you need anything. All I can really do is help with hours, but if you need an ear, you know where to find me.”

Quinn lets himself smile without looking up. “Okay.”

Just like that, the room falls quiet for a moment before Tony heads out of the room, allowing Quinn to compose himself for his shift. He cloaks in.

Tony comes back in with Ricky. His boss must have clued him in on the situation because, for the rest of the shift, Ricky really didn’t say much to him. He just asked how he was doing and excepted Quinn’s silence as they worked on deep cleaning the cafe on the union’s concourse. 

He does his best to forget about Luke, but he can’t shake the cracks in his brother’s voice. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. His dad was supposed to ruin his baby brother. Luke was the sunshine; he was the guy that could light up any room, and just listening to his voice, he wasn’t that guy anymore. His dad stole his light, and Quinn will never forgive him for that.

In the hopes of forgetting, he does something he knows he shouldn’t.

**Josh**

Can you pick me up after work?

I need to not think

**I got a new supply.**

**Just some pills if you’re interested.**

Sounds great

…

It’s well past midnight when he texts Elias to come to pick him up. He can’t drive home like this. His car is still on campus, but he knows he can’t get behind a wheel when his brain is heavy. It doesn’t take long for his friend to agree and come get him.

He’s sat outside on a park bench when Elias pulls up. He quickly gets into the car, and the heat blasting feels so good on his cold, nipped face. His friend looks over at him, and the blond's face drops.

“What the fuck did he give you?” He sounds so pissed off.

All Quinn can do is shrug. He’s not really sure. All Josh told him is that he’d relax and stop thinking so much. It helped, but now he feels like he’s on the edge of yacking. Elias hands him a water bottle.

Elias starts up the car, “Did you seek it out, or did Josh just like give it to you?”

“He offered,” Quinn explains.

“Quinn.” His friend sounds so pained, “Why the fuck…”

Quinn cuts him off, “I know it was really fucking stupid.” It was so fucking stupid, but there Josh was slipping a pilled between his lips, and he didn’t want him stop. He wanted what Josh was offering. “But it helped me forget.”

“What’s going on?”

“Luke.”

“What about Luke?”

“He called me crying before I started work.” If Luke had Facetimed him, he’s not sure how the situation would have played out, “He was going on about how he’s not sure if hockey is right for him.”

“Shit,” Elias swears.

“Lias, he just seemed so fucking lost on the phone.” He shoves a hand into his hair, “Fuck, I wanted to be there for him.”

“I get it.”

Quin groans, “Dude, he shouldn’t have to feel like this. Feel like he’s got the whole weight of the world on his shoulder.”

“Has he talked about it with your parents.” Quinn looks over at him, and Elias looks back, “Yeah, that was a stupid question.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “You think.”

“There are things you can’t be in control of,” Elias says.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Quinn snaps.

Elias sighs, “Like you want to be there to guide your brother through this, but ultimately it’s his decision if he’s going to quit or not.”

“Like I don’t know that.” Quinn groans, “It’s not that I want him to quit. If he can be spared everything that I had to deal with, then I will.”

“If he quiets, don’t you think your parents will blame you.”

“If that happens, then it happens. If it spares Luke all that pain, then I will go through it again. I don’t care.”

He’s always wanted to shield Luke from that. He saw too much at an early age. Between Quinn’s screaming matches with his dad and him basically being cut out of the family, Luke doesn’t need to see anymore. He may be getting older, but he doesn’t need that type of trauma in his life.

He’s pulled out of thought by Elias, “I’m surprised you didn’t call Chris.”

Quinn scratches at the back of his head, “We haven’t been talking much recently.”

Elias slams on the brakes, “What happened?”

Quinn shrugs, “He’s been weird with me since Halloween.”

“Did something happen?”

“Not that I know of.” He doesn’t think anything happened. He might not be able to remember all the night, but he thinks he’d be able to remember something happening.

“You think you tried to kiss him or something.”

“Nah, think I’d remember that.” He’s sure a hell he’d remember that. “But like Carol had us over for dinner the other night, and he was just kind of weird.”

Elias looks over for a second, “How?”

Quinn shrugs, “I don’t know. Like he asked me about Josh, and I just told him that Josh took me out the other night to the burger place downtown.”

“The one by the movie theater.”

“Yeah.”

“That place is so good.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “Anyways, Chris asked if it was a date. I just told him maybe cause I don’t really know if it was, and he got pissy about how I should be treated right and that Josh needs to pull his head out of his ass.”

“Why?”

“Cause apparently I’m a good guy that deserves to have a boyfriend that takes him on a date and shit like that.” He stills not sure why Chris doesn’t get it. He is not a guy that gets those kinds of things. Never has never will.

“Sounds like he’s jealous.”

Quinn can’t help but laugh. It’s just as ridiculous as the first time Elias mentioned it, “Chris. Jealous. Yeah, right.”

“It sounds like he is to me.” Elias doesn’t know anything. He’s got a guy who’s good to him, but he and Brock apparently are even dating. Just fooling around, “Anything else happens.”

“You’re going to laugh, but like he usually sits closer to me, and well, he didn’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Quinn. That man is so jealous.” Elias laughs, “How can you not see it?”

“No, he’s not.”

“He’s so fucking into you, and you letting an asshole like Josh be in your life and not him.”

Quinn can’t believe this, “First off, Josh isn’t an asshole, and secondly, Chris is in my life.”

His friend shakes his head, “Well, he’s not in your life like he’d want to be.”

“You don’t know that,” Quinn groans. He seriously can’t believe Elias.

“What I do know is that Josh treats you like shit.”

“How do you know that?”

Elias sighs, “Don’t tell Brock that I told you this, but Brock and Josh have a mutual friend. Some guy, they both, went to high school with.”

Quinn's eyes go wide, “Brock and Josh went to school together.”

“They grew up together.”

“No fucking way.” How has this never been brought up? How hasn’t Josh told him? “Why didn’t he tell me this.”

Elias looks over before looking back at the road, “Because Brock hates Josh. Like really fucking hates him.”

“What the hell. Why?”

“Brock didn’t really say, but all he did say was that Josh is trouble. Like the kind of trouble that gets you in jail and heartbroken at the same time.”

“I can’t believe that.” There is no way that Josh is that bad of a guy. Sure he may be a drug dealer, but that doesn’t make him a bad dude. He’s just trying to make some money.

“Well, maybe you should.”

“No, I don’t fucking believe Brock.” He knows Brock isn’t one to lie, but this just seems too far out of pocket.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m just telling me what Brock told me.” Elias puts his hands up as they are stopped at a red light, “Well, their mutual friend was telling Brock that Josh has been fucking around with things he shouldn’t be.”

Elias can’t not finish that sentence, “Like?”

“I don’t know.” Elias groans as the light turn green, “But he’s also fucking around with like three other people.”

“No, he’s not.” That is a lie. Brock is seriously lying about this to Elias. That’s so fucking wrong, “He told me that I was the only one.”

“When did he tell you that?” Elias asks.

“The other day when we went out.” Josh had promised that he wasn’t seeing anyone else. He told Quinn that he was the only one that was real. That wasn’t using him for drugs.

“Well, Brock’s friend told him this like two days ago.”

“I don’t believe you. Brock is just telling you things cause he knows you will tell me.” He can’t believe their friend. He knows Elias tells him everything.

They are pulling up to Quinn’s apartment complex. Elias parks in the middle of the parking lot. Elias tells him, “No, he didn’t want me to tell you. He wanted to be the one to do it.”

Quin turns to look at his friend, “Fuck him.”

“Already am.” His friend has this shit eating grin, and it pisses him off.

The anger is bubbling under his skin. Between being angry at his dad and now this, he so fucking pissed off, “Fuck you too.”

“Quinn, please don’t be mad,” Elias sighs.

“How can’t I be.” He unbuckles his seat belt and goes to open the door, but Elias places a hand on his forearm. Quinn shakes it off, “I really fucking like Josh, and Brock is being a dick.”

He can see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Quinn laughs, “Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Chris?”

“And Carol. Guess Chris was telling Carol about Halloween, and the woman said she’d beat Josh’s ass if he hurt me.”

“Quinn, if these many people are saying that, then maybe it’s for a good reason.”

“I’m not going to get hurt.” He knows he not. Josh is just a guy. A guy he likes, but at the end of the day, he is just a guy.

“For all the years I’ve known you, you get attached to someone so quickly that it’s going to happen.” What the fuck does Elias know. Okay, maybe he has cried over a couple of guys, but Josh won’t be one of them. “It’s just all the guys you’ve seen haven’t wanted what you do, and you always end up so heartbroken.”

“No, I don’t,” He practically shouts.

“Yes, you do.” Elias narrows his eyes, “I know you really like Josh, but there is a better guy out there for you.”

“Who?” No one good would even want him.

“Chris.”

Quinn opens the door to get out, “Go to hell.” He slams the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals seriously kicked my ass. Most of my finals due this past week instead of actually finals week which is this upcoming week. Hopefully, I'll be done by tomorrow so I have the rest of the week and spring break to write.
> 
> Fun fact: this chapter was actually one of the original chapters that started this fic. I was project my feeling onto Quinn after I came in to work crying. Good to know I still project onto him.

**Author's Note:**

> For my updates on my writing, you can follow me on [Tumblr](https://puckwise-ao3.tumblr.com/) @puckwise-ao3.
> 
> Oh yeah it slipped my mind but I used to write under Mari999
> 
> Let me know if I need to tag something. I'm not good at tagging.


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